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Mark Maynard’s Wife. 

I 


" 5 ^ 



FEAITKIE FALING KING. 

\\ 


** Mark Maynard's Wife," a new love romance from the pen of Frankie Faling King« 
is an exceptionally fine novel, possessing wonderful power, rare originality, and a degree 
of absorbing interest seldom attained. Marked vividness and naturalness characterize 
the entire narrative. The plot is simplicity itself, but nevertheless cannot be seen 
through , while every episode tells unmistakably. Thoroughly American, brilliant and 
dashing, the romance is also sensational without being too much so, and emotional 
without trenching upon the morbid or mawkish. The girl-wife Candice, her troubles, her 
flight from her careless husband, her thrilling experience and the clever stratagem by 
which she wins back her erring lord, all rivet attention in the firmest possible manner, 
while Uncle Sam's dry humor and the unswerving devotion of the Irish servant Katie 
are features that cannot be too warmly praised. Leon Tatro bursts into the romance 
like a gleam of lurid light, and Leta's sad story is very pathetically told. Candice's 
rescue from the waters and the attempted burglary will thrill all who read about them, and 
the doings of Baby Mark are charmingly set forth. In short, “ Mark Maynard's Wife " 
will delight everybody, and should be read throughout the length and breadth of the land. 


T. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 




COPYRIGHT. — 1885. 

a?. B. nPHSTOEItSOIT 8s BI2.0TI3:3EI2,S. 



“MAEK MATEAED’S WIFE” 

Marie Maynardls Wife'* by Frankie Fating King^ is an American love 
romance of sterling merit and deep^ absorbing interest. It is all action^ and 
everything about it is new^ unexpected^ powerful and original. The plot is 
capitally constructed^ giving rise to hosts of stirring and intensely dra^ 
malic incidents ^ while happy touches of humor here and there diversify 
the novel and relieve its emotional passages. The narrative is particularly 
graphic and as natural as life itself. Candice ^ the heroine ^ while very 
young^ marries Mark Maynard. She is a poor relative of his^ living 
with his stern^ proud mother ^ who degrades her to the position of a servant, 
Mark is indolent and dreads making his marriage known to his mother y 
90 Candice lives on unacknowledged and oppressed. Finally she believes 
her husband in love with Alda Lorney an heiress^ but a victim of consump- 
tion, and flees from him. All this is preliminary ; then the main portion 
of the telling novel begins. The trials and troubles of the parted pair are 
thrillingly depicted y the reader being treated to scene after scene of pathos 
well calculated to awaken the keenest sympathy; But so numerous are the 
strong and fascinating features that it is impossible to do more than allude 
to them in the mass. The characters are exceedingly life-like y old Uncle 
Sarny Baby Mark and the warm-hearted Irish girl Katie being drawn 
with special felicity. The sub-plot dealing with Leta Maynard and Leon 
Tatro is sensational but strong. Mark Maynard's Wife " is a book for 
everybody to ready and that it will attain enviable popularity is certain. 


CONTENTS. 

*-#-4 

Chapter. Page. 

I. THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 21 

II. “A SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 29 

III. ONE MORE APPEAL 40 

IV. “MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED, RED ROSe!” 62 

V. KATIE REBELS 61 

VI. SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. . 73 

VII. THE CONFESSION 80 

VIII. FLITTINGS 88 

IX. THE RUNAWAY WIFE 95 

X. “SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 102 

XL THE BURDEN OF LIFE 113 

XII. THE ADVERTISEMENT 120 

XIII. ARDUOUS DUTIES 131 

XIV. “I WILL GO TO HER.” 140 

XV. NEW ARRANGEMENTS 145 

XVI. FOREIGN LANDS 151 

XVII. LETTERS FROM ABROAD 160 

XVni. HOME AGAIN 168 

(19) 


CONTENTS 


20 

Chapter. Page. 

XIX. leta’s elopement 175 

XX. 18 LIFE 'WORTH LIVING? 184 

XXI. WAITING 193 

XXII. NEW DEVELOPMENTS 204 

XXIII. “M'sr love! mv life!” 213 

XXIV. A wife’s devotion 220 

XXV. AN HONORABLE NAME 232 

XXVI. “TOO OLD TO LOVE, TOO YOUNG TO 

marry!” 240 

XXVII. KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERY 249 

XXVIII. AT THE OPERA 260 

XXIX. “I WANT you! COME TO me! 269 

XXX. “YOU ARE MY WIFe!” 279 

XXXI. “FORGIVE ME, CANDICE, MY CHILD!”. 286 

XXXII. FINALE 292 


Mark Mainaed’s Wife. 

A LOVE KOMANCE IN EEAL LIFE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 

A LOVELY rustic scene: a fine, grand old 
orchard, laden heavily with fruit; the trees 
and even the grass beneath were covered with 
mellow, fragrant apples. The departing sun- 
light, glinting through the tree tops, made 
fitful, dancing shadows on the velvet verdure. 

Little birds carolled merrily amid the 
branches ; a timid hare started out from the 
waving grasses, lifting its head as if in quest 

( 21 ) 


22 THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 

of the scent of danger, and then quietly nib- 
bling away at the tender clover roots. 

In the distance the cattle lowed, and the faint 
whinny of a horse, calling to its mate, was 
heard, while under one of the grand orchard 
trees, a century old at least, a young girl 
stood waiting. She was the fairest part of 
this quiet scene ; motionless as a statue of 
marble she stood, gazing anxiously toward 
the ancient farm-house. One hand grasped a 
branch above her head, and her sleeve fell from 
an arm of delicately rounded proportions that 
would have been the envy of many a daughter 
of Eve less liberally endowed. A lovely, sen- 
sitive face, chubby and dimpled, and wondrous 
big brown eyes, dewy with unshed tears. Hair 
hanging in long curls of darkest auburn hue — 
a mass of riotous curls, unrestrained save by a 
single ribbon, tied carelessly behind. Her dress 
was only a faded calico, but neat and clean ; it 
fitted the supple, willowy figure as perfectly as 
the finest dress created by Worth. But she was 
not happy ; one could see that by the sad look 


THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 23 

in the bonnie brown eyes, the pitiful curve of 
the ripe red lips, as she stood there waiting — 
waiting for what ? 

A whistle rang out, loud and clear; the 
whistler, with a single bound, came over the 
weather-stained rail fence that divided the 
meadow from the orchard lot — a, handsome 
blonde young man, with a look of vexation 
on his attractive face at the sight of the 
motionless figure beneath the drooping apple 
tree boughs. 

“ Candice, what are you doing here ? ” He 
asked the question abruptly, almost angrily. 
“Can you not see that you are imprudent?” 

“ I did not think, Mark ; but surely I have 
done nothing wrong ; no one can say aught 
against me ! I am your wedded wife ! I have 
a right to meet you here ! ” 

“ Hush ! Candice ; do not talk so loud ; some 
one might be passing and hear you ! Of course, 
you have a right, child, but we must keep our 
secret yet a little longer.” 

“ I cannot, Mark ! Oh ! my darling, do not 
ask me, for I cannot ! ” 


24 THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 

“What in the world ails you, Candice? la 
the thought any worse than it was ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! a thousand times worse ! Mark, 
will you not tell the home folks ?” 

“ Candice, you must listen to reason ! Do you 
want to ruin my prospects, child?” 

“ No, Mark, I do not wish to ruin your pros- 
pects ; but oh ! Father in Heaven ! how much 
better it would have been if I had never come 
into your life ! ” There was such anguish and 
bitterness in her sweet young voice that her 
youthful husband gazed at her in wonder. 

“ Candice, are you sorry you married me ? ” 
he asked, softly, for this girl’s freaks were 
unaccountable to him. 

“You know I am not, Mark,” she said, pite- 
ously 5 “ but it is so hard to have others gaze at 
you with distrust, to have even your board and 
scanty covering given to you grudgingly 1 Your 
mother grudges me every mouthful I eat, and 
even this,” pointing to the faded calico, “ while 
your sisters sneer at me whenever I speak to 
you or even mention your name. I overheard 


THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 25 

Alice tell Aunt Kezia yesterday that ‘Candice 
is fishing for Mark ! ’ ” 

“You must not take such things to heart, 
Candice ; women’s tongues will clatter.” 

“ I cannot help it, Mark ! Sometimes I even 
feel as if I could hurl a bombshell into their 
midst by saying, ‘ I have a right here ; I am 
Mark’s wife ! ’ ” 

“ Candice,” Mark said, anxiously, “ you must 
control yourself. Why, child, you are actually 
getting nervous over it ; this will never do, for 
’tis but a slight thing to worry about after all ! 
Uncle Sam and Alda will soon go; then I will 
explain it all to mother and the girls.” 

“ And not until then ? ” 

“ No, not until then ! WiU you not kiss me, 
Candice?” 

“ Kiss you ? No ! no ! Mark Ma 3 naard, at 
this moment I can almost find it in my heart to 
hate you 1” 

“ Pleasant talk from one’s wife ! ” he said, 
coolly. “All right, Candice; I won’t ask you 
to kiss me again ! ” 


26 THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 

Candice did not know what she retorted ; bit- 
ter, angry words rose to her lips and found 
utterance. She was only a woman after all; 
she loved this handsome blonde giant with all 
her passionate, undisciplined heart, and could 
not forget that she was his wife. 

“ A sweet temper you’ve got, Candice ! Why 
didn’t you show it sooner ? ” Mark was laughing 
at her. 

“ I had no occasion, Mark Maynard ; now, I 
have ! ” 

“Well, cool off before I see you again, won’t 
you ? Remember you wouldn’t kiss me, and so 
good-bye,” and he sauntered idly away across 
the meadow, actually humming “ Sweet Violets ” 
in a rich, melodious voice. 

Then the reaction came to Candice ; down in 
the grass she sank, lower and lower, until her 
head was pillowed on her rounded arms, while 
great choking sobs burst from her. Mark, her 
husband, could leave her thus, and she was but 
four months a bride, with only promises for the 
future ! 


THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 27 

At last she rose wearily, wiped her tear-wet 
eyes, gathered some mellow apples from off the 
grass, and wandered homeward. Already dusky 
shadows were creeping about her and she 
would be missed; Aunt Kezia would be angry 
with her. 

Mrs. Maynard’s brother, Samuel Desbro, had 
arrived that morning, accompanied by his ward, 
Alda Lome, a bright, sparkling brunette, and 
Candice, creeping softly through the hall on 
her way to her room, glanced carelessly in at 
the open parlor door. Alda was reclining on a 
low divan, and Mark, her Mark, was holding her 
hand it seemed to Candice tenderly, but in reality 
he was just in the act of examining a serpent 
ring that encircled one of Alda’s taper fingers ; 
the conversation had wandered to rings, and 
Alda was showing hers as a keepsake and a 
curiosity. 

But Candice did not know this ; like a wounded 
deer she fled to her own little room, with swerv- 
ing, unsteady steps. Close down by the little 
window, the only one the chamber contained, 


28 THE SECRET MARRIAGE AND REBELLION. 

she sank wearily, looking out over the quiet 
landscape with dry, tearless eyes. The world 
had somehow gone wrong with her, and her 
girlish hopes and future happiness seemed 
likely to fall in shattered fragments at her 
feet. 


"a servant; nothing more.” 29 


CHAPTER n. 


“A SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 


ANDICE ! ” It was her Aunt Kezia, stand- 



ing on the threshold and surveying her 
with an air of stern disapprobation. 

“ Yes, aunt,” and Candice rose instantly ; “ do 
you want me ? ” 

“Yes, Candice. What an ungrateful girl you 
are. I’ve been running all over the house, try- 
ing to find you, and you are moping up here. 
What in the world ails you?” 

“ Nothing,” Candice said, quietly, hurt more 
than she cared to own by her aunt’s unkind 
words. 

“ Then, if that’s the case, and you are not 
sick, you could put your time in much more 
profitably helping Katie; she’s in one of her 
pouts again.” 


30 “A SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 

“I will be down in one moment, aunt.’ 

“ Hurry, then, for it’s tea time, and Katie s as 
mad as a March hare. I don’t know what to do 
with her.” 

Candice followed her aunt’s elegant figure 
from the little room down the grand old 
stairway and went straight to the kitchen. 

Katie looked up defiantly, as if expecting to 
see Mrs. Maynard, come to find fault as usual, 
but, instead, Candice said kindly : 

“ Katie, I have come to help you ; tell me 
what to do, quick ! ” and she bared her rounded 
arms preparatory to active work. 

Katie’s countenance cleared, like April’s sun- 
shine breaking through storm clouds, at Candice’s 
cheery words and gentle voice. 

“ Miss Candice, you are always kind and good, 
and I’m so tired I’m fit to drop ; what with all 
this work to do and the neurallajay in my head, 
I’m that put out I fale like setting meself down 
and letting the mistress storm or else come and 
do the work herself ; shure, she’s always finding 
fault with poor Katie ! ” 


“A SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 31 

“ I’m SO sorry for you, Katie ! Does your poor 
head hurt you badly? If so, just tell me what 
to do and you sit here by the stove and keep 
your face warm ; perhaps that will make it feel 
better.” 

“Oh! no. Miss Candice; there’s naught but 
tooth pulling will do me any good.” Katie almost 
groaned with the pain. “ Och ! howly Moses ! 
’tis jumping it is like it would jump out of me 
poor head, and all this wurruk to do ! ” 

“ Never mind what’s to be done,” Candice 
said, soothingly, seeing that Katie was in real 
pain ; “ I can manage that,” and quietly and 
deftly she went to work ; the tea was drawn, the 
table set, the roast turkey and boiled ham sliced 
to perfection and trimmed off artistically with 
celery leaves. Molds of wine-red jellies were 
emptied from their glasses into crystal dishes. 

“ Miss Candice ! ” 

The girl looked up quickly from her occupation 
of bread cutting. 

“ What is it, Katie ? Is your tooth worse ? ” 

“No! no; but ’tis a shame the way you have 


32 “A servant; nothing more.” 

to slave ; all day long you’ve been sweeping and 
dusting, and now you are doing my wurruk, more 
shame to me for it to be groanin’ and takin’ on 
to you when you have your hands full already! ” 

“ That’s all right, Katie. I’m only glad I can 
help you a little. And it’s my duty, remember, 
Katie.” 

“ Your duty ! Faith ! and what do you get in 
return. Miss Candice ? What little you ate and 
a few calico dresses, and, shure, you could arn 
dacint wages at any other place and work no 
harder than you do here.” 

‘‘ I know it,” Candice said, quietly. 

‘‘ I’m tired of it all. Miss Candice, and I’m 
goin’ to lave ; there’s wurruk enuff here for two 
Irish gurls like me, and the mistress expecting 
me to do it all, and company stuck up in the 
parlor in the bargain I ” 

“ Oh ! Katie, you do not mean it ! ” Candice 
said, anxiously. “ Think, Katie ; how would I 
manage without you ? I could never do all the 
work I ” 

“ I can’t help it. Miss Candice I I would do 


“A SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 33 

anything in the wourld for you, but stay I can’t 
much longer. She can get other help, or else 
let them lazy, good-for-nothing gurls of hers soil 
their dainty fingers ; shure, it won’t hurt them!” 

Katie was clearly in one of her humors, and 
knowing that she would soon be ashamed of her 
ill-temper, Candice ran out in the old-fashioned 
garden and picked all the late fall flowers she 
could find and made them into bouquets for the 
table^ This done, she stood off and surveyed 
the result; it was certainly all that could be 
desired, and with an air of satisfaction Candice 
again sought the Irish servant. 

“Katie, everything is ready. What shall I do 
next?” 

“ Oh ! Miss Candice, plase ring the bell, and 
then, if you would not mind pouring the tay, 
I will try and see about some of the other 
wurruk.” 

“ All right, Katie ! ” and catching up a white 
apron that hung over a chair back, Candice tied 
it jauntily about her waist and then rang the 
bell with a silvery peal, bringing the family and 
2 


34 “A servant; nothing more.” 

guests from the parlor; they were soon seated 
about the well spread table. 

Candice entered the dining-room quietly, with 
a cup of tea in each hand. She felt slightly 
embarrassed, for this was the first time she had 
met the new arrivals, having kept out of their 
way heretofore. 

“Will you have tea?” she asked of each guest 
in turn, every moment expecting her aunt to 
introduce her, but no introduction came. She 
looked across at Mark ; his eyes were bent on 
his plate as if not noticing her presence. 

“ Cold water, if you please,” Alda Lome was 
saying, in a rich, melodious voice. “I never 
drink tea.” 

Candice waited just one second longer for the 
introduction that did not come, then with head 
held haughtily erect hurried from the room. 

“ Quite a nice-looking servant ! ” Alda’s voice 
came to her through the open door and, glancing 
back, Candice saw Mark look up quickly and 
then she distinctly saw Mrs. Maynard cast him 
a warning glance. That was all, and when Can- 


‘^A servant; nothing more.” 35 

dice re-entered the apartment her eyes were 
shining strangely, a crimson spot glowed on 
either cheek and her red-tressed head was still 
held haughtily erect. 

“That will do, Candice.” It was her aunt’s 
cold, metallic voice. “ I will ring when I 
need you.” 

“Very well,” and Candice quietly withdrew. 
Ah ! her aunt was angry with her for waiting on 
the table in place of Katie, but it did not matter. 
Mrs. Maynard called her in just once more, and 
as soon as her task was completed sent her away. 

Candice heard the click of spoons and glass- 
ware and the merry table chatter, but she was 
excluded from it all as much as poor Katie 
groaning in the kitchen over her neuralgia. 

“ Candice ! ” 

Again her aunt was calling her, and she 
answered quietly enough. She was straining 
the milk into big stone jars out in the milk 
cellar. The family had all dispersed but her 
Aunt Kezia, and she had followed her here. 

“ What do you wish, aunt ? ” 


36 "a servant; nothing more.” 

“Only this, Candice,” and even this hard- 
hearted woman’s face flushed uncomfortably 
under the girl’s clear, searching gaze. “Katie 
is not feeling very well. I wish you would help 
her all you can while the company are here.” 

“Very. well, aunt; is that all?” 

“ No ; I wish you would not call me aunt in 
their presence; it will save all unnecessary 
explanations.” 

Now the girl’s tones were cold and cuttingly 
polite. “ You wish me then, Mrs. Maynard, to 
be a servant only, nothing more, during your 
visitors’ stay ? ” 

“ Don’t put it quite so plainly, Candice ; it is 
only for a short time.” 

“ Do the girls and Mark know ? ” 

“Yes,” the woman said, hesitating slightly; 
“ they understand that you will masquerade for 
a time at least ! ” 

Candice’s heart beat wildly like that of an 
imprisoned bird ; however, she made no sign 
but went on with quiet grace, arranging the 
milk jars and skimming off yesterday’s cream 


“A SERVANT; NOTHINa MORE.” 37 

to be churned early in the morning. Her aunt 
stood and watched her for a few moments, then, 
seeing the girl did not notice her further, noise- 
lessly quitted the cellar and joined the company ; 
but her mind was ill at ease. Would Candice 
acquiesce, or must there be a scene ? 

In order that the reader may understand a 
little more of the story, a few explanations are 
necessary. 

Candice was Mrs. Maynard’s half-sister’s child, 
the daughter of sweet Annie Desbro, who, marry- 
ing against her parents’ wishes, had been an exile 
from home for years. Candice’s father, a poor, 
struggling mechanic, had died when she was a 
baby. Poor Annie, left with an infant child on 
her hands, knew not which way to turn or what 
to do, and had struggled on and on, fighting pov- 
erty at each and every step, until Candice was 
fifteen years old ; then her strength had failed 
her and she died, first writing a letter to her 
half-sister, Kezia, begging her to care for her 
child, little Candice Lee. Kezia had consented 
through selfish motives only. Some of the won- 


38 “A SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 

dering neighbors called it an act of disinterested 
kindness and others prophesied a hard lot for the 
orphan, who was at length duly installed in the 
Maynard mansion as one of its inmates. 

. The family consisted of Mrs. Maynard, Can- 
dice’s widowed aunt, the daughters, Alice and 
Leta, two haughty, indolent young ladies, and 
Mark, handsome, indolent Mark. 

Mrs. Maynard had an only brother, Samuel 
Desbro, but he had been absent for over twenty 
years in India and the old countries, and now he 
had returned, - accompanied by his ward, Alda 
Lome. He did not even know of Candice’s 
existence ; he had asked after Annie, and Mrs. 
Maynard had told him she was dead, but never a 
word had she spoken of the child left behind. 

Mrs. Maynard knew her brother Sam of old; 
if he found out that Candice, his half-sister’s 
child, was living under the Maynard roof in 
almost the capacity of a menial, he would 
instantly take possession of her and provide 
for her out of his own abundant means. This 
would not suit Mrs. Maynard at all, for she did 


“a SERVANT; NOTHING MORE.” 39 

not care to lose Candice altogether; besides, 
there would also be danger of Uncle Sam 
making her his heiress, and that would never 
do, for she had set her heart on Mark succeed- 
ing to his uncle’s vast wealth. For these potent 
reasons she had doomed Candice to the kitchen 
during the visitors’ stay. 


40 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


CHAPTER III. 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


ALLEY FARM was a lovely place ; it was 



T possessed of every modern improvement, 
and the latest was a tiny mock lake, which the 
girls had christened Lily Lake. It had been a 
pond before, but Mark becoming wild over fish- 
culture bad had it dug out and enlarged until it 
looked indeed like a miniature lake ; that was 
about two years ago, and he had sent to an 
Eastern Shaker village for minnows to people 
this artificial lake of his. Now these minnows 
had grown until they were almost two feet in 
length — great German carp. He had planted 
water lily roots, and at present the surface was 
dotted here and there with mammoth leaves and 
dancing water lilies. Mark enjoyed this fish- 
raising ; every evening he took baskets of food 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


41 


and went down the well-worn path to the little 
lake and fed his finny tribe. Candice, knowing 
this custom, determined to make one more appeal 
for protection from her aunt’s last whim. 

Candice had come to Valley Farm in the early 
spring-time, sweet and fair as the rose buds just 
bursting into life, and Mark, the handsome, indo- 
lent son of the house, commenced straightway 
making love to her. Mrs. Maynard, whenever 
she found her son at Candice’s side, was angry; 
hence the poor girl was almost afraid to look at 
him, but already the mischief had been done. 
Treated with cool indifference by Leta and 
Alice, and with almost dislike by Mrs. May- 
nard, was it any wonder her heart turned to 
Mark as the only friend left on earth to her? 
He was kind to her, and she loved him in return. 
Mrs. Maynard, seeing how it would end, had for- 
bidden Mark seeking the girl and he had sought 
Candice secretly, coaxing, begging and entreating 
her to marry him. 

“ Once we’re married, Candice,” he said, 
“ mother can’t help herself, and it will be all 
right.” 


42 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


Candice objected at first, but his passionate 
entreaties at length prevailed, and she consented 
with fear and trembling. 

The family were invited to a social one even- 
ing and would be gone until a late hour. Mark 
pleaded a terrible headache and remained at 
home. “I’ll go to bed early,” he said to his 
mother, “ and sleep it off,” but what would she 
have thought half an hour later to see Mark, 
seemingly in the best of health and spirits, with 
Candice at his side, driving toward the nearest 
town ? 

It was about five miles away, and the distance 
was soon traversed. Stopping at the little par- 
sonage, the young man hitched the smoking ani- 
mal, blanketed it carefully, and with Candice on 
his arm entered the minister’s presence. It 
seemed only a moment to Candice, and then 
she was again in the open air, with Mark’s ring 
on her finger, his arm about her waist and the 
marriage certificate tightly clasped in her hand, 
which proved beyond a doubt- that she was a 
wedded wife. 


ONE MOBE APPEAL. 


43 


Now that it was all over they dreaded the issue 
and hurried rapidly back, almost expecting to 
find the family at home when they got there, 
but such was not the case, and they chatted of 
.the future gayly enough until they heard Mrs. 
Maynard’s voice in the hallway. Something had 
evidently gone wrong, and the glance of angry 
amazement she cast at Candice and Mark on 
entering the sitting-room made the girl shrink 
and cower with fear. 

“ So this is your headache, Mark ! ” cried she. 
“ Go off to bed this minute ! Candice, what an 
ungrateful girl you are to repay my kindness 
with underhanded work ! ” 

Alice and Leta were looking at them scorn- 
fully; Candice rose tremblingly from her seat 
and quitted the room, Mi*s. Maynard glaring 
after her angrily. The latter was in a passion ; 
Mark saw that at a glance ; when angry she was 
about as unreasonable a woman as the earth 
held, and if he should tell her now he dreaded 
the consequences. 

Procrastination was Mark’s greatest fault, and 


44 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


he thought to put off this confession of his yet 
a little longer; in the morning, perhaps, his 
mother would be more reasonable ; so with a 
yawn he raised his six feet of masculine length 
from off the chair and exclaimed : 

“ What’s the use, mother, of making a scene ? 
Did it hurt anybody very much for me to talk to 
Candice a few minutes ? ” 

His mother made some taunting remark, and 
with a scowl on his handsome face he quitted the 
apartment, slamming the door after him. Mean- 
while, Candice in her little room, trembling 
with excitement, expected every instant to be 
called; she looked for angry words, tears and 
reproaches; but no summons came, and listening 
until the house was quiet, she disrobed and crept 
into her little bed, to lie there sleepless until 
morning dawned. 

She dreaded the wrath that was sure to greet 
her if they knew, but no allusion was made to 
anything extraordinary, only her aunt was a 
shade cooler than usual, and the girls more 
haughtily unconscious of her presence than 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


45 


ever. Mark looked strangely embarrassed. 
When Candice went to the spring for a 
pitcher of clear, cool water, he sauntered 
slowly after her, whistling softly to warn her 
of his approach so that she would not hasten 
back. The spring was under the brow of the 
hill, and his mother had not noticed his 
departure. 

“ Hang it all, Candice, I just feel like an infer- 
nal scoundrel ! ” he said. “ Mother’s a perfect 
tartar ! I’d rather be flogged than tell her ! 
She’s got one of her spells now, and I expect 
she’ll send me to the right-about when she 
hears ! ” 

“ You did not tell her, Mark ? ” 

“ No, little one, I admit I didn’t have the 
spunk to face the music, and now I think it 
would be best to keep our secret until she gets 
better natured ! Do you care, Candice ? ” 

“ Oh ! no, Mark. You know best of course. 
A few days will not matter.” 

But the days had lengthened into weeks and 
weeks into months and the secret was a secret 


46 


OXE MORE APPEAL. 


still. Now that Candice’s fresh young beauty 
was all his own, Mark began to wonder if he 
had not been rather prematiire, and wished to 
put off the evil day as long as possible. But 
the girl’s proud spirit chafed under the slights 
put upon her, and she had more than once 
begged Mark to tell the home folks; but now 
Uncle Sam and Alda Lome had come, and he 
had positively refused to tell till they had gone ; 
meanwhile she was expected to act as a menial — 
she, Mark Maynard’s wife ! 

The work was all done and Candice, with 
weary feet and sadly beating heart, had seen 
Mark wandering toward Fairy Lake with a bas- 
ket of food on his arm. She had toiled hard 
all day; her hands were burned and blistered 
cooking delicacies for the company, and now 
she was following her husband like some guilty 
thing through the gloaming. 

Along the hedge the thorns wounded her ten- 
der flesh, but she must not risk detection ; they 
must not see her follow Mark. On she went 
until almost out of breath she came to the 
little lake. 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


47 


“ Mark ! my husband ! ” she cried. 

He turned quickly, angrily, at the sound of 
her low, melodious voice and caught sight of her 
timid, shrinking figure. 

“ Why did you follow me ? ” he asked in a 
tone of annoyance. 

“ Because, Mark, my darling, I have come to 
plead with you once more ! I cannot live on 
like this; my heart is breaking! ” 

“ Nonsense, Candice ! Don’t get into the 
tragic vein ! I’m getting tired of this perpetual 
digging at me I It isn’t pleasant, to say the 
least of it ! ” 

“ Why did you marry me, Mark ? ” 

“ Because I was a fool ! ” he answered, harshly, 
and Candice, his sweet young wife, threw up her 
hands with a wail of anguish. 

Mark was not bad at heart, only indolent and 
imperious. When he saw Candice with a look 
of stony despair on her face, he instantly re- 
lented. Putting one arm about her, he drew her 
to him, kissing her trembling lips and caressing 
her red-brown curls. 


48 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


“ Candice, I’m a brute ! 1 didn’t mean it, 
child! Don’t take it so to heart; I was only 
vexed for the moment ! ” 

Now her arms were around his neck, her 
burning eyes looking into his. 

“ Mark, Mark, I would want to die if you 
were sorry that I am your wife ! Oh ! heavens ! 
I could not live if that were so ! ” 

“ But I am not, Candice, only I hate to be con- 
stantly tormented! I will make it all right as 
soon as mother’s company is gone. I cannot go 
to them now, Candice, and make a scene ; you 
would not want to be so unpleasantly conspicuous 
either ; and if mother sends us off, we don’t want 
it done before folks, do we, little wife ? ” 

“ No, Mark ; but oh ! how long are they going 
to stay ? ” 

“ Only a short time, Candice ; Uncle Sam never 
remains long in a place.” 

“ Mark, your mother has forbidden me to even 
call her aunt before the visitors ; did you know 
that ? I am to be a servant while they are here. 
Look at my hands, already burned and blistered ! 
Is this quite right, do you think ? ” 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


49 


“ Poor little hands ! ” Mark said, caressingly. 
“ I will hunt mother up another girl. As for the 
rest, I suppose she has her reasons for not wish- 
ing you to be known. She told me Uncle Sam 
was very angry with your mother for marrying 
beneath her, and said he never wanted to see her 
or hers again. Mother is doubtless afraid he will 
be enraged at your presence here.” 

“ So that explains it all,” Candice thought ; 
“ but why didn’t she explain it to me ? I would 
not have cared so much if I had known.” 

“ Jamie! Jamie! do you hear me calling through the gloaming. 
Calling to you, darling, to come home ? ’’ 

Loud and clear rang out the words of the song 
only a few rods distant. It was Alda singing 
with a voice clear as the morning lark’s, and the 
notes of Alice’s and Leta’s voices were plainly 
audible. 

“ The girls are coming, Candice ! For mercy’s 
sake, run before they find you here ! ” Mark 
said, hurriedly. 

Candice, nimble as a fawn, darted for the 
friendly hedge and waited breathlessly for their 
3 


50 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


appearance. On they came, laughing and chat- 
ting as only light-hearted girls can, close to the 
hedge where Candice was hidden, and she dare 
not stir for fear of attracting their attention. 
On they went in robes of white, fair visions of 
youth and beauty, and Candice, crouching in her 
faded calico, keenly felt the difference between 
them and herself. 

“ I am as fair as they,” she thought, sadly, as 
she slowly and cautiously crept toward home, 
“ but oh ! how unutterably different my life is 
from that of the petted heiress, Alda Lome ! ” 

“ Mahomet would not come to the mountain, 
so the mountain came to Mahomet ! ” Alda said, 
gayly, as they approached Mark. 

“ I was afraid you would be gone,” Leta said, 
glancing at Mark suspiciously, he seemed so 
wonderfully busy just then, and he had been 
gone almost an hour from the house. 

“ Is it not quite a sight. Miss Lome,” Mark 
said, abruptly calling attention to the fish feed- 
ing, and pretending not to notice his si.ster’.s 
remark. 


ONE MORE APPEAL. 


61 


“ Isn’t it wonderful ? ” Alda said, deeply inter- 
ested, gazing at the water bubbling and splashing 
as the fish jumped for some particle of food and 
carried it beneath the surface. “ This fish-raising 
is something new, isn’t it ? ” 

“It is not common,” Mark answered, pleas- 
antly; then he unmoored the little boat and 
invited the girls to take a sail over his mam- 
moth lake. “ The name of pond doesn’t suit the 
girls. Miss Lome ! ” he said, laughingly, “ and 
they have christened it Fairy Lake ! ” 

“ Quite appropriate, I’m sure,” Alda said, 
laughing at the girls’ quaint conceit. “Might 
we not as well have things poetical as so 
terribly matter-of-fact ? ” 

“Certainly,” Mark said, bowing ironically; 
“ you ladies are privileged creatures ! ” 


62 “ MT LOVE IS LIKE THE RED, RED ROSE ! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


“mt love is like the red, red rose!” 


OOR CANDICE, creeping softly through 



JL the tangled grasses, tares and brushwood, 
thought bitterly of the scene she had left, and 
of her young husband talking soft, flattering 
nonsense to their beautiful young guest. She 
knew he would, for it was as natural for Mark 
Maynard to admire beautiful women and tell 
them of his admiration as it was to live ! 

Alda Lome was as beautiful as some fabled 
houri ; she was a bewitching, bewildering bru- 
nette, with large, languishing dark eyes, and 
hair of midnight darkness, but about her great 
spirituelle eyes was an expression as if happi- 
ness did not always dwell in her young heart ; 
her face when in repose was unutterably sad; 
fair, dainty Alda, though so young, had yet the 


"my love is like t^e red, red rose!” 53 

insidious germ of a fatal disease lurking in her 
system ! Her mother, a delicate Southern girl, 
had fallen a prey to deadly consumption, and 
Alda knew that in a few years she also was 
doomed to an early grave ! Already she had a 
dry, hacking cough, and more than once her 
handkerchief had been stained crimson by slight 
hemorrhages. She had not informed her guar- 
dian of this, knowing it w'ould grieve him 
greatly, for he loved his fair young ward, an 
orphan left to his care when she was quite an 
infant. Her father had taken his fair, youthful 
wife to India, thinking the change would be 
beneficial to her, but not so, and when he was 
stricken down in the full strength of his man- 
hood with a fatal fever, his wife lived only a few 
weeks longer ; they were buried side by side in 
the far away land. 

Samuel Desbro had been a friend of the fam- 
ily, and the little Alda was entrusted to his care. 
Wealth illimitable was hers, but that could not 
prolong her life or take the lurking shadows 
from about her young heart. She knew she 


54 “ MT LOVE IS LIKE *THE RED, RED ROSE ! ” 

had her mother’s disease, but made no lament ; 
night after night she lay with wide open, tearless 
eyes, wooing sleep in vain, or a storm of pas-« 
sionate sobs would shake her slender frame and 
her pillow would be drenched with tears. 

Poor Alda ! Candice in her gentle heart would 
have pitied her if she had known, but she did 
not, and sitting in her little room, with the last 
fading rays of the sun bathing her face, she 
watched from her window the young folks 
return to the house. She envied the fair young 
girl walking so proudly by Mark’s side, and felt 
a sharp pang of jealousy for the beautiful 
stranger so warmly welcomed among them. 

Days came and went, and still the guests lin- 
gered, Candice bravely doing her best with the 
work. Katie, after her neuralgia had disap- 
peared, seemed ashamed of her bad temper, and 
once more took tbe burden from the young girl’s 
shoulders. All passed quietly until one day Can- 
dice went to her room on some trifling errand. 
What was her surprise to find it already occu- 
pied; the bed was taken down and a small easel 


“my love is like the red, red rose!” 55 

stood at the window; on it was an unfinished 
sketch. Candice gazed about her in dismay. 
What did it all mean ? Must even her little 
room be invaded, given over to the enemy? 
Was there no spot on earth she could call her 
own ? Her errand was forgotten, and hurrying 
down to Katie, she said, bitterly : 

“I guess aunt expects me to hang upon a 
nail, nights, Katie 1 ” 

“Why, Miss Candice?” 

“ She has taken possession of my room ; the 
bed is disposed of, and an easel stands at the 
window I ” 

“ Faith, Miss Candice, and is that what it is ? 
Shure I toted the thing up meself. Your aunt 
says to me, ‘ Katie, take this and carry it up to 
Candice’s room.’ Shure I thought it was a 
clothes-rack or something of the kind for your 
own especial use, and I thought the mistress was 
getting a kind spell on for a change, bad ’cess to 
her! What’s the thing for. Miss Candice, that 
you’re turned out for it? Shure there’s space 
for both the aisil and you, or must it be a hermit 
and have the room by itself ! ” 


56 “ MT LOVE IS LIKE THE RED, RED ROSE ! ” 

“ Katie, you do not understand,” Candice 
said, half laughing at her droll remarks. 
“ They have turned my poor little room into 
a studio.” 

“A what?” Katie asked, innocently. 

“A studio to paint in,” Candice said, smiling 
at Katie’s look of perplexity. 

‘‘ Shure and is that the raisin they have 
turned you out of your room ? Couldn’t they 
paint in their own room just as well?” 

“ Oh ! Katie,” and Candice laughed merrily, 
don’t you understand yet ? ” 

“ Indade I don’t ! ” and Katie shook her brick- 
colored hair in a negative fashion. “ Faith, and 
me blundering Irish tongue is always getting 
things wrong ! ” 

“ Katie, Miss Lome, I understand, is quite an 
artist and paints lovely pictures, and I heard 
them remarking at the table yesterday some- 
thing about the girls taking lessons. Oh ! if 
I could only paint and be loved and courted 
like Miss Lome, courted, feted and caressed ! ” 
and the girl’s voice died to almost a wail. 


"my love is like the ked, ebd eose!” 57 

" Don’t, Miss Candice ! Shure Katie will stick 
to you. I’m only a pore Irish gurl, but I don’t 
forget kindness when I meet it. Shure you can 
slape in me bed ; ’tis nate and clane.” 

" But where will you sleep, Katie ? ” 

" Shure there’s lots of blankets and quilts in 
me room. I can make me a bed on the floor.” 

" No, you will not,” Candice said, decidedly, 
"You kind, good-hearted girl, do you think I 
would not sleep with you? If aunt does not 
furnish me with another bed, I will share yours 
with you.” 

But Candice went around the rest of the day 
with a heavy heart. She expected her aunt 
would seek her out and make some arrange- 
ments for her ; she did not, however, but 
seemed to shun that part of the house. 
Candice felt hurt more than she cared to 
admit. "If she had only spoken to me about 
it,” Candice thought, sadly, " before they took 
possession, I would not have minded it quite so 
much, but to ignore my very existence, that’s 
where the sting is.” 


58 “mt love is like the red, red rose!” 

Candice waited for her aunt’s appearance in 
vain, and too proud to even mention the occur- 
rence to any member of the family, she sought 
her little room, gathered up her few belongings 
and transferred them to Katie’s chamber over 
the kitchen. Mrs. Maynard saw her flitting 
through the hall, well satisfied that she had 
submitted so easily, for the haughty woman 
dreaded a scene, and even she felt uncom- 
fortable over the injustice she had done her 
half-sister’s child. 

Candice cried herself to sleep that night. A 
horrible certainty was taking possession of her 
mind, an unutterable dread of the future and 
what it would bring to her — shame and disgrace 
unless Mark acknowledged her as his wife, and 
that possibility seemed further off than ever. 
She arose in the morning, heavy-eyed and unre- 
freshed. Kind-hearted Katie tried to induce her 
to keep her room for awhile, but she would not, 
and with this fresh burden laid upon her young 
life she arose wearily enough, but with one 
thought burning and searing her brain. She 


“ MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED, BED ROSE ! ” 59 

would seek Mark and tell him all; then, if 
he did not acknowledge her, she would go 
away and die! Better to go out of his life 
entirely than live on like this ! 

She watched and waited for him, but no 
chance came until just before dinner, when 
she caught a glimpse of him sauntering down 
the garden walk. Throwing prudence to the 
winds, with no thought of anything but her 
own pitiable plight, she hurried after him. 

Hark 1 he was not alone ; he had stopped 
under the old arbor of grape vines, and was 
speaking in the low, melodious tones she loved 
so well. Peering through the friendly shelter of 
a bunch of lilac shrubs, she saw her young hus- 
band with a beautiful red rose in his hand, and 
before him, with a faint flush on her delicate 
face, was Alda Lome. 

“ ‘ ’Tis the Last Kose of Summer I ' ” Mark 
said, laughingly. “Will you accept it. Miss 
Alda?” As the girl’s Avhite fingers closed 
about tbe green stem, Mai*k said, softly, 
teasingly : “ ‘ My Love is Like the Red, Red 


60 “ MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED, RED ROSE ! ” 

Kose ! ’ ” and gazed with evident admiration at 
the fair girl’s blushing face and then raised the 
little, trembling fingers to his moustached lips. 

Candice waited to hear no more ; she turned 
and fled wildly, blindly, toward the house. She 
could not ask him now; he loved fair Alda 
Lome ! Between the fair young heiress and 
Candice, the working girl, there was nothing 
in common ! 

And Mark, in the old garden, had no thought 
of disloyalty to his youthful wife, but her claims 
on him had been so slight he had not felt their 
pressure heretofore. He admired Alda and had^ 
kissed her hand; that was all, but to Candice it 
was everything ! 


61 


# 

KATIE REBELS. 


CHAPTER V. 

KATIE REBELS. 

A bout a couple of weeks after the incidents 
recorded in the last chapter, Katie openly 
rebelled. Mrs. Maynard had been more tyran- 
nical than ever. Everything in her eyes went 
wrong ; she scolded Katie and Candice without 
the slightest provocation. Candice said nothing 
hn reply, but Katie — quick-tempered Katie — 
would not brook so much fault-finding. 

Monday, Katie did the washing and in the 
evening sprinkled the clothes down for the 
next day’s ironing; in the morning she put 
the irons on the stove to heat while she was 
getting breakfast. 

Breakfast was over, and clearing up Katie 
set the dishes on the little side-table and com- 
menced ironing, when Mrs. Maynard appeared 


62 


KATIE REBELS. 


with a face like a thunder-cloud, dark and 
threatening. 

“Katie, I want you to wash those dishes at 
once ! ” she cried. 

Katie looked up, saw her mistress’ ireful face, 
and let the half-finished garment drop from her 
fingers. 

“ You want me to stop ironing, mum ? ” 

“ Yes, and wash the dishes ! ” Mrs. Maynard 
said, in a more gracious tone, for she did not 
quite like the looks of Katie’s head set so 
defiantly on her shoulders. 

“Very well, mum,” Katie responded, quietly, 
and, taking the dish-pan down from the wall, she 
got water from the reservoir and commenced 
washing the dishes. 

Mrs. Maynard glanced uneasily at the gar- 
ment on the ironing-board ; it was one of Mark’s 
shirts, all ironed but the bosom. She glanced at 
the shirt and then at Katie, who was washing the 
dishes with the utmost unconcern, and spattering 
the water about in a terribly suggestive manner. 

“Are you not afraid the bosom will get dry. 


KATIE REBELS. 


63 


Katie ? ” Mrs. Maynard asked, trying to speak 
pleasantly. 

“ No, mum,” Katie answered, briefly, and Mrs. 
Maynard, thinking it would be best to beat a 
retreat, quietly left the kitchen. 

Candice was sick, really and truly sick; her 
head burned and throbbed, and her limbs seemed 
tottering beneath her. Katie had persuaded her 
to remain in bed for a few hours, and what was 
her surprise to see the servant come to her room 
and commence packing her trunk. 

“ I’m going away. Miss Candice ! Indade I’ll 
not stay here to be scolded for doing the right 
as well as the wrong ! She scolds me for using 
too much wood, and when I want to use the 
irons while they are hot to save the wood she 
scolds me for that, and shure a pore Irish gurl 
can’t suit the likes of her ! ” 

“ Katie, where will you go ? ” Candice asked, 
anxiously. 

“ To Chicago, Miss Candice ; my brother, Pat 
Maguire, has a bit of a shop there, and he would 
be glad to have Katie tend it for him. Many’s 


64 


KATIK REBELS. 


the time he’s said, ‘Katie, you nade not be 
working out ; come and live with me ! ’ ” 

“Oh! Katie, how can I get along without 
you?” Candice said, sadly, seeing Katie was 
determined on going. “After you are gone. 
I’ll have no friend on earth ! ” 

“Don’t say that. Miss Candice, jewel of me 
heart ! ” Katie exclaimed, earnestly. “ Shure if 
you ever nade a friend, Katie will be one to 
you 1 ” 

Candice had her arms about Katie’s neck 
now, and was sobbing bitterly. 

“ Oh ! Katie ! Katie ! if I could go too ! You 
know not how much I am in need of friends ! ” 

“ Hush ! Miss Candice I ” Katie said, sobbing 
softly, but trying to speak cheerfully through 
her tears. “When the burden gets too heavy 
for the back to carry, then come to Katie ; she 
will wurruk for you, if nade be 1 Shure, Katie 
Maguire never forgets the ones that are kindest 
to her!” 

Katie packed her trunk, quickly donned hat 
and shawl and hurried to the nearest railroad 


KATIE EEBELS. 


65 


station, about half a mile from there, and sent a 
boy back after her belongings. That was the 
first Mrs. Maynard knew of the occurrence. 
She had not been near the kitchen since 
morning, and supposed Katie was still there. 
What, therefore, was her dismay when the boy 
came, stating that Katie Maguire had sent him 
for her trunk ! 

“Where is Katie?” Mrs. Maynard asked, 
anxiously. 

“At the station, ma’am,” the boy said, respect- 
fully, “ waiting for the Chicago train. She said 
I was to hurry back.” 

“Wait here,” Mrs. Maynard said, quietly, and 
hurrying through the dining-room straight to 
the kitchen, she paused and looked about her. 
The dishes were washed and put away, but it 
was nearly dinner-time and no preparations had 
been made for the midday meal. In the middle 
of the room the ironing-board stood, held up by 
two chairs, and Mark’s shirt lay on it, with the 
bosom still unironed. The kitchen was uninhab- 
ited save by a large Maltese cat, purring in the 
4 


66 


KATIE REBELS. 


open door-way. Mrs. Maynard saw at a glance 
how matters were, and hurrying up the back 
stairs entered Katie’s room. Candice lay on 
the bed, sobbing bitterly. 

“ Where is Katie ? ” Mrs. Maynard asked, 
quickly, eyeing the sobbing girl angrily. 
Candice sprang up nervously. 

“ She has gone, Mrs. Maynard ! ” 

“ Gone, Candice, and you moping up here ! ” 
her aunt said, harshly. “ You must come down 
and help with the dinner work and not be idling 
away your time.” She did not ask Candice the 
cause of her grief, but seemed to take it as a 
personal offense again.st her own dignity. 
Glancing at Katie’s trunk sitting on the land- 
ing where the Irish girl had dragged it, she 
hurried down and sent the boy after it. 

Candice, rising, dragged her weary limbs down 
to the kitchen and commenced making prepara- 
tions for dinner. It was slow work, for her head 
throbbed and her lagging feet almost refused to 
do her will. She thought of kind-hearted Katie 
speeding on toward Chicago, and her eyes were 
dim with tears. 


KATIE REBELS. 


67 


Alice Maynard, a tall, graceful blonde, was not 
wholly bad hearted, and when she came into the 
kitchen after a glass of water for Alda, she saw 
at a glance Candice was not able to be working 
there, and told her in a kinder tone than she 
had used for months that she would help her 
with the work. “ I will be so glad, Alice ! ” 
Candice said, gratefully. 

Alice’s heart smote her more than once that 
morning as she watched Candice furtively. It 
was winter now, or nearly so, and only eight 
months before Candice had come to the old farm 
house, bright, bonnie Candice, the very embodi- 
ment of youth and health; now she was wan 
and spiritless; the wild rose bloom had disap- 
peared ; she looked sick, bodily and mentally, 
and Alice, calling her mother aside after dinner, 
said, decisively : 

“Mother, Mark must hunt up another girl this 
very day, for Candice is sick and cannot do the 
work. We have been so busy with Uncle Sam 
and Alda that we have not noticed her lately.” 

“ Most likely she has the sulks ! ” Mrs. May- 


68 


KATIE REBELS. 


nard said, coldly. ‘‘ But, of course, we must 
have another girl ; you must not spend your 
time in the kitchen ! ” 

So Mark was dispatched to hunt up another 
maid of all work, and came back after nightfall 
with a big, stolid German girl. 

Mrs. Maynard did not mention to Mark that 
Candice was ill. She called it a fit of bad tem- 
per, but for several days the girl was unable to 
leave her room. Mark felt many a twinge of 
conscience whenever he thought of her. Ah ! 
the confession he was to make seemed further 
off than ever; how could he explain before his 
Uncle Sam and Alda ? It would be bad enough 
before his mother and the girls, but to note his 
Uncle Sam’s glance of stern disapproval and to 
see sweet Alda Lome’s eyes shrink from him in 
aversion, that would be too much ! No, no, he 
could not nerve himself for the ordeal ! He had 
pondered over it, considered it often, whenever 
he caught a glimpse of Candice’s sad, pale face, 
but each time some slight thing had deterred 
him, and he put it off yet a little longer. 


KATIE KEBELS. 


69 


Samuel Desbro, a jovial, kind-hearted old 
man, watched Mark and Alda and shook his 
head knowingly. What might not happen with 
two young folks of the opposite sex thrown so 
constantly together ? Surely he was not blind ; 
he could see Alda’s face flush in Mark’s presence 
and turn pale at his shortest absence, like a 
broken lily drooping on its stem. 

After a time Mark noticed this also ; not, how- 
ever, with ^secret exultation, but with a saddened 
heart ; not with a lover’s fond anticipation, but 
with a guilty, startled glance, and when Uncle 
Sam announced his intention of returning to 
Chicago and opening the big town house he had 
recently purchased, Mark was glad and told him- 
self so. He would make good his promise to 
Candice and tell his mother all ! 

But the best laid plans are not always carried 
out, and right in the midst of the preparations 
an unforeseen event occurred which kept them 
chained to the old farm house for all the winter 
ijionths. 

Leta was to accompany them and enjoy a 


70 


KATIE REBELS. 


winter of gay city life. Alda was glad to have a 
girl of her own age with her, and the prepara- 
tions went on gajdy. 

Alice suggested a fresh idea one day. “ Let’s 
give Alda a farewell party,” she said persua- 
sively to her mother, and Mrs. Maynard, who 
entertained fond hopes concerning fair Alda 
Lome and Mark, consented. 

“ What shall it be, Alda ? ” the girls asked 
her, happy as young, pretty girls always are in 
the anticipation of an evening’s dissipation. 
“Just a plain ball, or would a bal masqu^ 
be better ? ” 

“ Oh ! a ball masqu^ by all means ! ” Alda 
said, eagerly, and the girls readily acquiesced. 
Invitations were sent out two weeks ahead so 
everybody would have plenty of time to prepare 
their costumes, and then the girls set joyously 
to work manufacturing their own. Old boxes 
were rummaged and antique dresses brought 
to light that Mrs. Maynard had worn in her 
girlhood. 

Alda’s trunks were searched and many an odd- 


KATIE REBELS. 


71 


looking garment brought forth, relics from far- 
off India, and soon the costumes were completed 
amid girlish chatter and merry laughter. 

Candice in her own little room, which had 
been vacated when cold weather set in by the 
young artist and her pupils, listened to the girl- 
ish chatter going on in the room below and 
formed a wild, foolish scheme of her own. 
She too would go to the ball, and as one of the 
maskers, mingle for once among the family and 
guests. She had heard laughing allusions made 
by the sisters about Mark and Alda, and with a 
determination born of despair resolved to see 
and judge for herself ; if it were so, she would 
go out of their lives forever ! 

She had formed no definite plan concerning 
her own future ; she only knew she could not 
live under the Maynard roof longer if it were 
true and Mark, her husband, loved fair Alda 
Lome. She did not think that merely show- 
ing her certificate to the family would prove her 
right as Mark’s wife, for not for one moment 
would she force her presence upon him if he 
had ceased to love her. 


72 


KATIE REBELS. 


Poor, innocent child ! she thought to go out of 
his life entirely and leave no trace behind ; then 
he could wed the one he loved ! 

Her mother’s mourning garments were folded 
carefully away. She brought them out and 
fitted them on herself. She would go as a 
widow, for if it were true and Mark loved 
Alda and regretted marrying her, was she not 
worse than widowed ? Better, far better, to lose 
your loved ones by death’s cold embrace than to 
have them go from you in the full vigor of youth 
and fairness ! 

Yes, as a widow she would attend the ball, 
and as a widow would she go out in the world, 
if this cruel thing was indeed true, for then she 
could not, she dare not, remain longer ! 


SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 73 


CHAPTER VI. 

SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 

T he night of the ball, so impatiently looked 
for, came at last. It was cold, bitterly 
cold; the wind whistled and blew down the 
chimneys of the old farm house until the 
fires leaped and spluttered, telling of an 
approaching storm. The old farm house was 
all aglow with light and warmth. Mrs. May- 
nard, regal in black velvet, waited unmasked 
to receive the guests. Carriage after carriage 
drove up the graveled walk and unloaded their 
freight of masked revelers. 

All were welcomed gayly, and, after throwing 
off the wraps that enveloped them, entered the 
ball-room fitted up for the occasion, and mingled 
in startling contrast costumes of every kind and 
description. A fair young bride came creeping 


74 SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 

softlj in, and was it a strange fatality that a 
dark-visored, black-capped widow walked in her 
train, at first timid, hesitatingly, and then, as 
the novelty of the situation wore off, more 
regally erect. 

Mark, conspicuous because of his height and 
curling blonde hair, made his way to the side of 
Alda Lome ; he knew her in a moment, the fair 
young bride. The straight, slender, graceful 
girl seemed very near to him that night; he 
forgot Candice in the ball’s gay excitement, 
and when the young widow loitering near them 
attracted his attention he did not associate her 
with his wife, whom he supposed sound asleep in 
her own room. 

To Alda Lome no man in that room could 
compare with Mark. She watched him, a world 
of love in the depths of her dark eyes. She did 
not dance, as she had not felt very well for 
several days, and to-night a strange lassitude 
oppressed her ; still she experienced no sadness. 
Was not Mark by her side constantly, attentive 
to her slightest wants ? The gay revelry 


SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 75 

•went on, and at midnight they were to un- 
mask. Candice knew this, and designed at 
the proper instant to creep quietly away. 
She was watching Mark and Alda with a 
singular, undecided feeling in her heart. Did 
he love fair Alda? 

“Alda! oh! my God!” It was Mark’s voice, 
full of passionate sorrow, and in his arms like a 
broken lily lay Miss Lome ; her white bridal 
robes were stained and streaked with the crim- 
son life-blood flowing from her lips ! What did 
it all mean ? Candice gazed with a great horror 
in her wine-brown eyes. Masks were thrown off 
amid the confusion, and all the dancers pressed 
eagerly about. 

“ Carry her to her room ! ” cried Mrs. Maynard. 

Trembling with emotion and with a look of 
agony on his handsome face, Mark obeyed in 
silence, bore her through the hallway straight 
to her chamber, and Candice, creeping softly 
behind him, hoping to escape unobserved, saw 
him press his lips ardently to the marble cheeks. 
That was enough ; undecided no longer as to 


76 SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 

where his affection was placed, Candice entered 
her little room and locked the door; next she 
lighted her lamp and commenced making all her 
mother’s dark dresses up in a bundle. She 
found the heavy crape veil and tied it tightly 
over a little black straw hat; then she took a 
small purse from out her trunk-till and counted 
its contents — thirteen dollars, that was all ; not 
much for a young girl to think of facing the 
world with, alone and friendless ! Mark had 
given her this money off and on to get trifles of 
wearing apparel, but fearing Mrs. Maynard would 
notice and wonder where she got the money, she 
had laid it quietly aside, and now it was to serve 
her in her wild flight. 

Down the stairway she crept quietly, cau- 
tiously, pausing just one moment outside of 
Alda’s room ; mufiled voices came to her ear, 
that was all, and almost holding her breath for 
fear they would hear her footsteps, she hurried 
safely by. Through the dining-room to the 
kitchen she went, and, unlatching the door, 
hurried out, closing it behind her. She 


SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 77 

stopped then just one moment and listened 
furtively; the old Maltese cat purred con- 
tentedly at her feet ; she took it up and 
pressed her young lips to its soft fur; then, 
as if afraid her heart would fail her, she rushed 
blindly, wildly out in the darkness. 

Down the well-worn path which led by the 
fish-pond toward the station beyond she sped. 
The wind blew in her face, almost blinding her. 
It had rained two days previously, and the soil 
had been wet and muddy ; now it had commenced 
freezing, and the ground was rough and uneven. 
It was so dark she could scarcely see her way ; 
she approached too near the little lake, down 
sunk her feet in the soft mold, and one tiny rub- 
ber was left sticking in the loamy soil. In the 
darkness she could not recover it. Changing 
her course slightly so as to avoid the lake, she 
went on and on ; in a short time she found her- 
self at Valley Station, and, drawing her widow’s 
veil about her to prevent recognition, she pur- 
chased a ticket for Chicago ; it cost three dollars 
and twenty cents ; well, she had enough left to 


78 SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 

keep her for a few days at least, and, sinking on 
the hard wooden bench with her bundle beside 
her, she waited the train’s arrival. 

Why was she going to Chicago ? She did not 
stop to ask herself that question ; only Katie, 
warm-hearted, Irish Katie, was somewhere in 
that large city; she would go to her; she did 
not think, poor child, that it would be a worse 
task than hunting for a needle in a hay-stack to 
find Katie in that babel of noise and confusion ! 

The train came whizzing in ; she took her seat 
in the car hastily and drew her veil more closely 
about her face ; no one noticed the black-robed 
figure sitting so quietly in the corner ; the con- 
ductor came along, took up her ticket and passed 
on, and Candice was left to her own bitter, burn- 
ing thoughts. Somewhere on earth she would 
find some spot to hide herself, and perhaps she 
might die ; she was young and strong, but then 
the young and strong die sometimes ! 

On, on went the train, screaming and puffing, 
and Candice, cowering down in her seat, thought 
of what she had left behind — her young husband 


SICKNESS AND THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT. 79 

who did not love her, and her aunt who disliked 
her. “ They will be glad I have gone,” she 
thought, bitterly, “ glad to be rid of the poor 
relation, and Mark can marry Alda ! ” Poor 
Alda ! and even Candice felt a pang of sorrow 
for the bright, fair girl, lying so low in the old 
farm house. 

In the room where Alda lay anxious watchers 
were by her side ; a severe hemorrhage, the worst 
she had ever experienced, had left her wan and 
weak. Mark, hurrying toward the station in 
the darkness, had followed directly in his young 
wife’s footsteps ; he was in search of the doc- 
tor, for something must be done to stop the 
flow of blood that was sapping the young life of 
Alda Lome. Little did he dream that Candice 
was hurrying from her rightful home out into 
the hard, cold world ! 


80 


THE CONFESSION. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE CONFESSION. 

T he next morning dawned cold and cheer- 
less at Valley Farm. Each member of 
the household gazed at the others with mute 
inquiry on their faces as to how this was going 
to end ; would Alda’s life be spared yet a little 
longer, or would it go out into the great unknown 
on the wings of death ? 

Ann, the stolid German girl, went around 
slowly but surely about her duties, and in 
the anxiety and commotion Candice was not 
missed for some time. 

Uncle Sam, poor old man, was nearly heart- 
broken over Alda’s sickness, for full well he 
knew that even though she might rise from that 
bed of sickness it would not be as the merry, 


THE CONFESSION. 


81 


light-hearted girl he loved so well, but as an 
invalid respited for only a little longer. 

Mrs. Maynard was the first to notice the 
absence of Candice, and asked Ann about her; 
but Ann knew nothing, and Mrs. Maynard, with 
a strange dread in her guilty soul, hurried up to 
the girl’s room. What she expected to see was 
Candice too ill to rise, for she had noted the 
girl’s marked listlessness for several days, and 
had attributed it to biliousness. Hence what 
was her surprise on entering the room to find 
the bed untouched; the calico dresses she had 
given her still hung upon the wall, but Candice 
was not there. 

“ Where can she be ? ” Mrs. Maynard thought, 
wonder ingly, shivering until her teeth chat- 
tered. She had never before noticed how cold 
this chamber was in winter. “ Candice must 
have a warmer room,” she thought, softened 
considerably by the previous night’s scene. 
“ She must have risen early and made her 
bed, and is somewhere about the house at 
present,” Mrs. Maynard thought, trying to 
5 


82 


THE CONFESSION. 


reassure, herself ; descending the stairs again 
she searched the house in vain, and then the 
barn and out-buildings. 

It was noon now and still no trace of Candice 
was found. She was gone. The girls com- 
njenced asking about her, and Mrs. Maynard 
answered them evasively. Evening shadows 
once more closed about the old farm house, 
but still Candice did not make her appearance. 
When Mark took his place at the supper table 
he had not noticed her absence, or if he had he 
had given it no thought. 

“ Mark,” his mother said, sternly, “ that 
ungrateful girl has surely gone — run away!” 

“ Has Ann gone ? ” Mark said, innocently. 
“ It beats all such luck as we have with 
hired girls! I’ll have to hunt up another, I 
suppose.” 

“You do not understand,” his mother said, 
quickly. “Ann has not gone.” 

“Who in creation has then?” Mark asked, 
anxiously. 

“ Why Candice, of course ! ” Mrs. Maynard 


THE CONFESSION. 


83 


answered, with the air of a highly injured 
party. 

“ Candice ! ” and Mark rose suddenly from his 
chair, his face pale with suppressed excitement. 
“Mother, you do not mean to tell me Candice 
is not here!” 

Uncle Sam and the girls looked up in aston- 
ishment both at the news and the agony in his 
young voice. 

“ Can you not understand, Mark ? ” Mrs. May- 
nard said, glancing at her stalwart son, half 
anxiously. “ Candice has gone. She ran off 
last night, for her bed was not slept in ! ” 

“ Oh ! Father in Heaven ! ” Mark groaned, 
real agony in his face and in the tones of 
his full young voice. “ Mother, this is our 
work ; we have driven her from us ; only 
you and I are to blame ! ” 

“ Don’t get excited 1 ” his mother said, half 
angry at her son’s accusation. “What is it to 
you if Candice has gone ? The ungrateful 
girl ! we are well rid of her ! ” 

“ Mother,” and in Mark’s voice rang a tone of 


84 


THE CONFESSION. 


determination, “ if Candice is on this earth I 
must find her ! No, do not try to stop me ! ” he 
said, impatiently pushing his mother to one side 
as he rose from the table and reached for his hat. 

“ My son, do eat your supper at least ; you can 
search for her to-morrow.” 

“No,” Mark answ'ered, firmly; “I am going 
now. I shall not return until I find her ! ” 

“You’re making a terrible fuss about a ser- 
vant-girl ! ” old Mr. Desbro said, with a merry 
twinkle of the eyes. “ If she was old and 
homely, Mark — ” 

But the sentence was never completed, for 
Mark, towering above him like a young giant, 
cried, wildly: 

“ Hush, uncle ! You .do not understand. Can- 
dice is no servantrgirl ! She is your niece, your 
sister Annie’s orphan child, and, more shame to 
my manhood for not telling it months ago, my 
lawful, wedded wife ! ” 

“ Mark ! is this true ? ” It was his mother’s 
voice, wild and entreating. Do not tell me that 
Candice is your wife ! ” 


THE CONPESSIOH. 


85 


“ Don’t talk to me, mother ! ” and Mark’s face 
seemed to have aged at least ten years. “ I am 
wasting valuable time. My poor darling wander- 
ing out and alone such a night as this ! I must 
go in search of her ! ” 

“You can do nothing to-night.” It was his 
uncle’s voice, cold and stern, but Mark had gone 
out in the wind and darkness to hunt for tiaces 
of the half-maddened girl. He thought he un- 
derstood it all now. Poor sensitive child, she 
imagined he did not intend to acknowledge her, 
and she had gone from out his life, thinking to 
leave him free and unfettered. 

Mrs. Maynard, gazing after Mark in despair, 
was recalled very forcibly to the present by 
words of cutting scorn issuing from Samuel 
Desbro’s lips. 

“Kezia, can it possibly be that a sister of 
mine has been guilty of an action that the low- 
est, most ignorant woman in the world would 
think twice before perpetrating? I ask you, and 
expect you to answer truthfully, , is this young 
girl you call Candice sister Annie’s child ? ” 


86 


THE CONFESSION. 


With a shame-faced look, Mrs. Maynard 
answered : “ Yes ! ” 

“And you have treated her as a servant, let 
her live in solitude, isolated from her cousins ! 
Girls, are you not ashamed of yourselves for 
allowing this with your own cousin ! ” But 
Leta and Alice had disappeared, frightened at 
the turn affairs had taken. It was all right 
when it was not known, but now that the man 
they had thought to keep it from had found it 
out, they began to realize the littleness of their 
own conduct, and if Candice were only to return 
now they would welcome her with at least a show 
of cordiality. 

Alda was very ill ; whether she would be 
spared days, months or years was yet to be 
seen, but only by the utmost care could they 
hope to bring her through this attack. Uncle 
Sam thought of her with an inward groan. She 
loved this faithless Mark, and if she should hear 
of his marriage he knew not what might be the 
consequences, so he told his sister on no account 
to let Alda know. “We must keep it from my 


THE CONFESSION. 


87 


pure white lily,” he said, brokenly, “and as 
soon as she is strong enough I will take her 
away from here.” 

The matter was, therefore, kept a profound 
secret. Days rolled by; Mark had sought far 
and wide but in vain, and at last had given up 
the search as useless. Next he advertised in all 
the leading papers in several different cities, but 
with the same barren result. Candice had van- 
ished as completely as though she had never 
existed. 

A month later Mark was wandering down by 
the little lake and found the tiny rubber frozen 
in the mud ; he recognized it at once as one of a 
pair that Candice had worn, recognized it with 
a great horror widening his sad young eyes. 
Could she have drowned herself ? He could not 
rest until he had dragged the lake ; the winter 
so far had been an open one, and the little sheet 
of water was not yet frozen over, so he had no 
difficulty in executing the work. No cold, dead 
face, with curls of red gold hair, however, met 
his view. Candice was not there. 


88 


FLITTINQS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


FLITTINGS. 



LDA recovered slowly, but not a word, not 


a bint did she hear about the distressing 
event that had occurred at Valley Farm. She 
noticed the sober faces of the family, but attrib- 
uted everything to their anxiety on her account, 
and in her gentle heart was grateful. She con- 
valesced slowly. Uncle Sam petted her continu- 
ally. “You are so good to me, guardie,” she 
said, gratefully, and could not think what made 
the tears start to his kind old eyes. 

For Mark, Uncle Sam felt almost contempt. 
How could he marry his young cousin, and, hav- 
ing wedded her, be such a slave to procrastina- 
tion as he had been ? Uncle Sam could not 
understand it, even though Mark had come to 
him and bravely acknowledged everything, not 


FLITTINGS. 


89 


sparing himself in the least. He could under- 
stand one thing — Mark had dreaded to tell his 
mother, but that was all. 

Mrs. Maynard’s haughty spirit seemed broken, 
and she blamed herself for all that had occurred. 
She had repelled her son’s confidence from in- 
fancy, chiding him harshly for any wrong-doing 
until he had commenced keeping his boyish 
secrets through fear of his mother’s wrath. 
Candice, from the day she entered the farm 
house door, had been snubbed, almost ill-treated, 
and she was Mark’s wife ! She had ruined 
his young life, but the keenest regret availed 
nothing ; this cruel thing was done and past 
recall. 

Mark was as kind and attentive to Alda as 
ever. Mr. Desbro told him frankly just how 
the case stood. ‘‘ She loves you, Mark,” Uncle 
Sam said, pleadingly ; “ do not let her know, her 
girlish romance is but dead sea fruit ! ” and 
Mark had promised. 

It was Mark’s strong arms that bore her from 
the easy-chair to the bed or placed her among 


90 


FLITTINGS. 


soft pillows on the sitting-room lounge. It was 
Mark who read to her by the hour those cold 
winter evenings. Alda wondered at his sub- 
dued air ; the rollicking, merry Mark of a few 
short weeks ago was no more, but in his place 
was a courteous, sad-eyed young man who 
humored her slightest wish. 

The name of Candice never passed Mark’s lips, 
but he would sit by his bedroom fire after the 
rest had retired, far into the “wee sma” hours 
of the night, thinking, thinking. Spring-time 
came with its buds and bloom, “ April showers 
and May flowers ; ” Alda was pronounced well 
enough to be moved, and Uncle Sam was busy 
making preparations for their departure. 

There was no ball this time, from which each 
guest crept away in affright, but a calm, quiet 
leave-taking. 

Mrs. Maynard was not sorry they were going, 
but could not bear to meet her brother’s re- 
proachful gaze. Leta was to go with them as 
companion for Alda until Mr. Desbro could 
engage the services of some entertaining per- 


FLITTINGS. 


91 


son as companion for her in her somewhat 
isolated life. 

The important day at last arrived. Alda, a 
trifle paler than when she came to Valley Farm, 
yet wonderfully improved, shed tears of sorrow 
at parting with those who had been so kind to 
her, and made each member of the family 
promise to come to the city at their earliest 
convenience. Mark drove them to the depot, 
and shook hands with them warmly at parting. 

“Will you not come to see us soon?” Alda 
said, raising her flower-like face to his, anxiously. 

“Very soon, Alda,” Mark said, trying to speak 
gayly, but it was a miserable failure when he 
thought of the two fair women who loved him 
equally well. 

“Be a man, Mark,” his uncle said, as they 
were going away. “ It will do no good to throw 
away your life in useless repinings. Cast aside 
your indolence ; active work will do you good.” 
And Mark promised to follow his uncle’s advice. 

At the farm house the days passed drearily. 
Mrs. Maynard was less tyrannical and kinder to 


92 


FLITTINGS. 


her help, and Alice was like some lost spirit 
strayed from spirit-land. She had spoken the 
name of Candice several times, but Mark had 
checked her coldly. He was busy from morn to 
dewy eve superintending the spring work ; never 
once did he shirk from his duties as heretofore. 
Every time he came to the house he looked 
around, half expecting to see Candice gazing at 
him reproachfully as she used to do. His fish 
pond or “ Fairy Lake ” was drained and fresh 
water caught from the clouds. Whenever he 
wandered down the well-worn path, he could see 
in imagination the face of his fair young wife 
pleading to him for her rights. 

Where was she, this lovely spring, living or 
dead ? He asked himself this question time and 
again, but could not answer it. How different it 
would be if she were back, his fair young wife ! 
He would love her, ah ! so tenderly ! At night 
in his dreams he would stretch out his empty 
arms imploringly for the lost bride who never 
came to them. 

Surely, he was severely punished for his 


FLITTIN6S. 


93 


selfishness and indolence ! Like many other 
wrong-doers, if he could have lived his life 
over again, how different would have been his 
conduct ! 

He had imagined himself in love with Alda 
for a time, and in his boyish recklessness had 
been guilty of many an imprudence ; now he 
knew his love for Alda was but calm brotherly 
feeling and admiration for her as a lovely woman. 
But alas ! for fair Alda Lome ! love and mar- 
riage were not for her ! 

Alice Maynard, a lively little lady, and, like 
Mark, easily swayed, regretted her share in the 
whole transaction. If anything, she was kinder- 
hearted than Leta, and thought sadly of what 
Mark’s tender, sensitive young wife had endured 
alone. All this pity and regret came too late to 
benefit the girl who had gone out from under 
their roof, her young affections repulsed and a 
terrible secret torturing her poor brain, for, alas! 
they did not know the worst. 

Mrs. Maynard was disappointed, terribly dis- 
appointed in Mark, but she had only herself to 


94 


FLITTINGS. 


blame. When he informed her how near he had 
come to telling her of his marriage with Candice 
on the night of the social, but was checked, 
repulsed by her cold words and insulting looks, 
she had nothing to say in extenuation, and 
accepted as her just punishment her son’s 
bitter, reproachful words. 

Mark was changed. Nervous and restless, he 
could not content himself long at any particular 
thing; fish-raising had lost its attractions for 
him, so he turned it over to the hired man, and 
after the crops were well in and he had but little 
active work to fill his hands and occupy his mind, 
he appeared more restless than ever, and would 
saddle his gray horse, ride off by himself, be 
gone all day and come back when the evening 
shadows enveloped him, sad and listless. 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


95 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE RUNAWAY WIPE. 

C andice, as she rode through the cold and 
darkness thought only of her young hus- 
band, and sobbed behind her widow’s veil until 
the fountains of her tears were dried. When 
morning dawned, cheerless and gray, with 
feathery snowflakes falling rapidly, she gazed 
out on the “ Queen City” they w^ere just enter- 
ing with dry, feverish eyes. 

Here was her destination ; here she must 
alight, and then what would become of her ? 
She did not stop to think, but, gathering her 
shawl more closely about her and grasping her 
little bundle tightly in her hand, descended to 
the platform. 

She threw her veil aside that the cool air 
might fan her feverish cheeks, and the depot 


96 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


officials and waiting passengers gazed in wonder 
at the face before them. The brown eyes were 
wild and anguished, her pale visage shone forth 
white and colorless as any fine-cut cameo, and 
her long auburn curls were tossed and tumbled 
by the wind. 

Many kind-hearted women looked after her 
with tears in their eyes as she passed by. “Poor 
thing ! ” they murmured, softly ; “ so young to 
be a widow ! ” 

A crowd of busy hackmen swarmed about her, 
confusing her by their rapid utterances. 

“ Hack, Miss ? Step right this way ! ” One 
brawny fellow opened the door of his vehicle 
as if to induce her to enter. 

“ No ! no ! ” She wanted no hack ; she must 
walk, for she knew well the value of money and 
had but little to spare. Hurrying on to escape 
their importunities she found herself on one of 
the crowded thoroughfares. As she realized she 
had nothing in common with this throng of 
laughing, gayly-dressed women, she hastened up 
the first side street to which she came, think- 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


97 


ing to escape from the gaze of so many won- 
dering eyes. She passed along the boulevards 
and her brown eyes widened with awe as she 
looked upon the magnificent dwellings before 
her. Rude men passed her and stared at her 
openly, but, too innocent to notice them, she 
wandered on and on. 

“ Katie, I must find Katie,” was her constant 
thought, and once or twice she accosted passers- 
by, asking if they could tell her aught of Katie 
Maguire, but they laughed in her face or 
answered pityingly, thinking she was crazed 
and knew not what she asked. One young 
man turned and followed her, wishing to 
attract her attention, but she was blind to 
his presence, and at last he turned away 
discouraged. 

She was hungry and weary and stopped at a 
little bake-shop to buy a few cakes, asking per- 
mission to rest while she ate them ; then, again 
she hurried away. On, on she went, but Katie’s 
cheery face did not greet her view, and consider- 
ing how worse than useless it was to search for 
6 


98 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


her, Candice, worn-out and heartsick, entered the 
first respectable-looking boarding house she came 
to, just as the evening shadows were falling over 
the noisy, bustling city. The landlady glanced 
at her suspiciously, but was touched by the look 
of sorrow on the fair young face and kindly 
made room for her among her already numerous 
boarders. A tiny apartment was given her, poor 
and mean, but Candice was not used to better 
and accepted it gratefully; the room was heated 
by a drum fed from the base burner beneath, 
and the pleasant warmth was very acceptable to 
the cold, shivering girl. Throwing herself on 
the bed, Candice closed her weary eyes. An 
hour or more she lay there utterly exhausted, 
without a flutter of the eyelids or a motion of 
the toil-worn though shapely hands, folded so 
tightly over her heart. 

Mrs. Harris, more troubled than she cared to 
admit over her new boarder’s appearance, stole 
noiselessly up to her room and knocked softly, 
but receiving no answer opened the door and 
entered. She noticed the girl’s position and was 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


99 


about to withdraw as quickly as possible, when 
the eyes of the sleeper opened and gazed won- 
deringly about her. Noticing the waiting land- 
lady regarding her curiously, she struggled to 
her feet. 

“ I was so weary. Madam,” she said, in apol- 
ogy; “the warmth after being out in the cold 
made me sleepy, and I did not hear you enter.” 

“ Can I do anything for you ? ” Mrs. Harris 
said, kindly; “you look utterly fatigued.” 

“ No, thanks,” Candice said, gratefully ; “ I 
am quite comfortable and you are very kind.” 

“ My dear,” Mrs. Harris said in reply, “ will 
you tell me your name ? You are very young 
to be a widow, and yet you are dressed in a 
widow’s garb.” 

“ My name ? ” Candice said, wearily. “ Ah ! 
yes, I had forgotten I had not already told you. 
My name is Mrs. Mayne.” 

“I am not mistaken and you are a widow 
then, poor child ? ” 

“ Yes ! yes ! ” Candice moaned, plaintively. 
“ I am widowed. Mark ! oh ! my husband ! ” 


100 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


The rounded arms were thrown up wildly and 
the wine-brown eyes were dry and tearless. 

“ Poor child ! poor dear ! ” Mrs. Harris said, 
tears moistening her own eyes, and she did the 
greatest kindness she could have done to the 
friendless girl ; she went straight up to the fair 
young stranger with the passionate, anguished 
face, and drawing her head covered with a mass 
of red-gold hair down on her motherly shoulder, 
talked in kind, sympathetic tones until the little 
hands unclenched their passionate grip and the 
hard, tense look left the girlish face and she was 
sobbing freely. The kind-hearted woman then 
went down to the kitchen below and with her 
own hands brewed a cup of strong tea, and with 
some warm muffins and rich preserves again 
sought the girl’s room and pressed her to eat. 

The first morsel nearly choked her, but after 
having drunk the tea and eaten a few mouthfuls, 
she felt better, and the kind woman left her, 
after tucking her warmly in bed and imprint- 
ing a motherly kiss on her brow. Mrs. Harris 
did not realize the full extent of the kindness 


THE KUNAWAT WIFE. 101 

she had done ; poor Candice was on the verge of 
madness, and the kind, motherly treatment, so 
unlooked for, had started the tears once more, 
and eased the throbbing brain. 

Would there were more women like Mrs. 
Harris; many a poor girl would be saved if this 
were so; kind words in pity spoken will melt 
the heart, but bitter ones will drive the erring 
on, further and further in the downward 
course. 


102 


“so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 


CHAPTER X. 

“so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

LDA and Leta, sitting at the window of a 



-AJl. handsome brown-stone residence, in the 
last month of spring-time, were discussing Leta’s 
return home in a few weeks at furthest. 

“What will I do without you, Leta?” Alda 
said, sorrowfully. “I will be very lonesome 
without you ! ” 

“ You can get some one to fill my place, dear 
Alda, very easily. An advertisement will bring 
hundreds out of employment to you ; surely you 
can pick from among them some one who will 
suit you.” 

“ It will not be you, dear,” Alda said, drearily, 
“ and I cannot bear to think of a stranger being 
with me constantly.” Then there was a slight 
pause in the conversation, broken at last by 


103 


“so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

Alda’s voice, low and tremulous ; “ Leta, do 

you not think it strange your brother has never 
been to see us since we came here ? ” 

“ He is so busy,” Leta said, quietly, noting 
with saddened heart how the fair face flushed 
and paled, for strange as it may seem not one 
hint of Mark’s marriage and his young bride’s 
flight had reached Alda’s ears. Isolated almost 
entirely from society she had not met any per- 
son who was familiar with the strange, romantic 
tale. But she knew that for only a few months 
at most could she stay among those who had 
been so kind to her, and she longed with an 
unutterable longing to gaze upon the face of 
Mark Maynard once more ; to feel his strong 
hands clasp hers would seem almost as if he 
could hold her back from death’s cold embrace ! 
As has been said, she knew she had not long to 
live. She had talked it all over with Leta, 
calmly and quietly, as behooved one resigned 
to the dread thought. She had divided her girl- 
ish possessions between Leta and Alice ; her vast 
wealth she never mentioned, but stored away in 


104 “so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

her mind was a plan which was destined to reach 
fruition ere many months rolled by. 

Uncle Sam watched Alda with a great pain 
gnawing at his very heart strings ; he was alone 
in the world, having never married, and on Alda 
he had bestowed all the affection he would have 
given to a child of his own, if he had been 
blessed with wife and family. It grieved him 
to see Alda each day growing thinner and more 
shadowy ; it grieved him to think that young life 
so full of grand possibilities must go out when 
just on the threshold of perfect womanhood ; to 
lose his pet, his gleam of sunshine, was almost 
more than he could contemplate now in the 
autumn of his existence. 

Alda and Leta, sitting by the parlor window, 
gazing out at the passing throng, saw a ruddy- 
haired, buxom Irish girl sauntering slowly by. 
Leta leaned eagerly forward and said to Alda, 
half laughingly : “ I believe that was Katie 

Maguire, our fiery Irish help of last summer; 
yes, I am sure,” she added, decisively, as Katie 
turned her. head in that direction. - 


105 


“so NEAR AND TET SO FAR.” 

“The one that left so suddenly?” Alda said, 
smiling. “Your mother was terribly put out 
that morning ; I remember it well.” 

And Katie, sauntering slowly by the elegant 
house, had not the faintest idea that Mrs. May- 
nard’s daughter Leta was gazing out at her from 
the parlor window. Katie’s mind was filled with 
other thoughts just then, and she did not notice 
the girl’s familiar face pressed so closely against 
the window panes. 

Candice, in the boarding house where we last 
saw her, was more than grateful for the kindness 
Mrs. Harris showed her ; but several days passed ; 
her little stock of money was nearly gone, and 
she had no way to obtain more. Day after day 
she wandered out on the streets in search of 
Katie, but she could find no trace of her, and at 
last gave up in despair. A week elapsed and 
then two, and her last dollar was expended. 
What should she do ? She was conscious of 
only one thought — she could not accept this 
shelter longer. Mrs. Harris had been very kind 
to her, but she could not forget she had no claim 
upon her and that she was poor also. 


106 


“ so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

So once more poor Candice found herself out 
on the sidewalks of Chicago, friendless and with- 
out money. She wandered all day through the 
streets and along the boulevards, and at night- 
fall found herself in a strange part of the 
city; the buildings of brick and granite were 
replaced by humble cottages, and tiny shops 
were scattered about instead of the mammoth 
stores. 

Hark ! What was that noise, thundering, roar- 
ing in her ears like imprisoned waters striving to 
burst their boundaries ? 

On, on she wandered ; now her feet were not 
upon the hard pavements, but treading soft, 
yielding sand, and the waves of the lake, leap- 
ing and splashing, broke on her astonished 
sight. Then a wicked thought surged through 
her brain ; her breath came short and pantingly 
as what she contemplated came to her in its 
horrible possibilities. Why not get rid of it all, 
the pain and heartache, bury the present and 
past under the cold, cold waves? 

What was that stretching far out almost 


107 


“so NEAR AND TET SO FAR.” 

bej'ond her sight ? ’Twas the pier where they 
loaded and unloaded vessels. She would go out 
on that a little way. She would not drown her- 
self — no ! no ! only walk out over the waves 
and watch them splashing against the abut- 
ments beneath her ! She was young and 
strong ; it would be so hard to die ! 

No one noticed the fair young girl in widow’s 
weeds wandering out on the pier among the 
tiers of cordwood. She went on and further 
on ; beneath her lay the cruel, treacherous 
waves. One leap and all would be over; the 
waters would encircle her and the floating drift 
wood would float on the same as ever! But 
no ; an icy hand seemed to reach out and save 
her from herself, and turning with a weary sigh 
she hurried toward the shore. It was so far, so 
very far; she was faint and weary; she could 
scarcely see her way, and just at the water’s 
edge her poor feet, benumbed with cold, 
stumbled and she fell into the leaping waves. 
A faint cry struggled from her lips, a terrified, 
agonized cry; a brawny laborer heard it and 


108 


“ so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

saw with dismay the woman’s fonn sink from 
sight. 

For just one second’s space he stood as if 
paralyzed; then, hurrying toward the spot, he 
waited for her reappearance. She was borne on 
the crest of an incoming wave almost to his 
feet; another minute and she would be washed 
out again never to return. With one leap he 
stretched out his toil-worn hands and clutched 
her dress. The w'ater was receding. Would he 
lose her again ? No ! no ! and clutching her 
garments with a firmer clasp he drew her from 
the waves and laid her tenderly on the beach. 

“ A suicide ! ” So thought this timely res- 
cuer, and snatching up the lighted lantern he 
had dropped, he held it above the girl’s face, 
scanning it curiously. 

It was by mere chance this man was on the 
beach ; his cottage was only a few rods distant, 
and he had come in search of driftwood for fuel ; 
but now he forget everything save the young 
girl lying unconscious beneath his gaze. 

She was no ordinary suicide he felt sure ; that 


109 


“so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

dainty, high-bred face, refined even in its rigid- 
ity, was not the face of a common unfortunate, 
but of a lady w'hom cruel adversity had driven 
to this step ! 

Hark ! Some one was coming. The moon just 
bursting through a cloud revealed two men in 
the police uniform, their brass buttons and stars 
glistening in the silvery light. They must not 
find this fair young girl ; she might be dead and 
they would send her to the morgue, or, worse 
still, if living, to the police station as a sus- 
picious character; she did not belong there, and, 
gathering her up in his strong arms, he carried 
her rapidly toward his little home. 

She breathed ! Ah ! yes, he was sure of that! 
Opening the door he entei’ed the tiny cottage ; 
two women looked up on his sudden entrance, 
screamed slightly and then grew pale as they 
saw the strange burdfen he carried. It was no 
armful of driftwood to be laid in the oven and 
dried, but a fair girl with curls of red-gold hair 
streaming over his shoulder! 

One of the women, red-haired and ruddy-faced, 


110 “ so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.” 

started forward impulsively and fixed the bed for 
him to lay her on; then the wine-brown eyes 
fluttered and flew open wildly and the pale lips 
murmured : “ Katie ! Katie ! ” 

The ruddy-faced young woman peered into 
the stranger’s countenance anxiously. What 
did she mean by calling “ Katie ! Katie ! ” 
Surely she did not know her! 

Again the young voice rose in delirium : 

“ Katie ! save me ! save me ! ” 

Katie Maguire, for it was she, caught the 
small hands in hers and, in a wondering, awe- 
struck tone, said : 

“ Be aisy. Miss Candice, darlint ! Katie will 
save you, shure ! ” 

How came this fair young girl here, lying so 
low, for now she was certain it was Miss Candice 
of Valley Farm ! “ Can it be,” Katie thought, 

wonderingly, “ that she is in need of friends and 
has come to poor Irish Katie ? Shure, ’tis cruel 
treatment has drove her to this ! ” 

“ You know her, Katie ? ” It was her brother’s 
voice, bringing her back to the present. 


Ill 


“so NEAR AND YET SO PAR.” 

“ Know her ! ” Katie answered, quickly. 
“Shure I know the poor lamb so well I 
would do aught in the wide world for her ! 
It’s Mistress Maynard’s own niece, more shame 
to her to drive the child to this! Dear Miss 
Candice, do you know Katie ? ” 

The brown eyes rested for one moment on the 
girl’s ruddy face as if in recognition, and the 
pale lips murmured : 

“ Katie ! kind, good Katie ! I have hunted 
for you so long ! ” 

But the girl was delirious ; Pat was excluded 
from the room and Candice’s wet garments were 
changed for warm dry ones from Katie’s slender 
wardi'obe. 

Mrs. Maguire looked anxiously at Katie as 
they disrobed her, but Katie, resolved to shield 
Candice at any cost, met her sister-in-law’s gaze 
defiantly. 

“ ’Tis all right ! ” she said, as if resenting 
the slightest intimation of wrong. “ Shure 
the poor thing’s husband is dead and she be 
nearly crazed I Mayhap she will die if she 


112 


“so NEAR AND YET SO FAR.’ 


don’t get cared for quickly ! ” and so the really 
kind-hearted sister-in-law asked no further ques- 
tions ; Pat was dispatched immediately for a 
doctor and before morning the feeble wail of an 
infant was heard in that humble cottage, and 
Mark Maynard had an heir. 

But the mother’s life was despaired of ; she 
raved in her delirium of Mark and called on 
Katie piteously to save her from the cruel 
waves ! The kind-hearted Irish girl kept by 
her side constantly, assuring her in tender 
tones that she would save her. 


THE BUKDEN OF LIFE. 


113 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE BURDEN OF LIFE. 

F or several weeks Candice lay fighting the 
battle of life. Katie excluded the rest of 
the family from the room entirely,, for not for 
worlds would she have them hear what Candice 
said in her delirium. And to Katie the girl’s 
ravings were a revelation, for the constant, 
never varying refrain was of Mark, begging 
him to tell the home folks. 

Katie could not read or she would have 
known that the piece of paper she had taken 
from the girl’s bosom was a marriage certificate, 
but thinking it was something of importance she 
laid it safely away until the girl should recover, 
if she ever did. She understood now that Mark 
Maynard was to blame for the girl’s sad plight, 
and if she could have read the papers she would 


114 


THE BTJKDEN OP LIFE. 


have noticed Mark’s advertisement for Candice 
to return to Valley Farm. But Katie, thinking 
she would do Candice a kindness by keeping 
silent, would not inform one single member of 
the Maynard family that she was with her. If 
Mark had appeared on the threshold of that cot- 
tage, the fiery Irish girl would have slammed the 
door in his face. 

Katie took complete charge of the little flaxen- 
haired infant boy, with eyes of pansy blue and 
curling blonde hair, like those of the young 
father who had never gazed upon his baby boy, 
nor knew that Candice was a mother. 

It was Katie who bought the fabrics and 
stitched away on garments for the pretty little 
infant that lay so contentedly at its uncon- 
scious mother’s side. It was Katie who, when 
it cried with hunger, would patiently drop by 
drop put milk in its tiny mouth, and when it 
cried with pain would walk with it hour after 
hour until the little head drooped on her 
shoulder and it would sleep ; and then with 
it tightly clasped to her she would sit for 


THE BURDEN OF LIFE. 


115 


hours holding it in her kind, strong arms, 
while it slept the dreamless sleep of infancy. 

But at last Candice awoke once more with 
the light of reason shining in the wine-brown 
eyes, and looked about her wonderingly, first at 
Katie, in the big arm-chair, with the sleeping 
infant in her arms. She could not understand 
it. How came she here, with Katie by her side, 
and whose baby could that be ? 

“ Katie ! ” she called, but her voice was weak 
and Katie not easily awakened ; so with a little 
contented sigh Candice dropped off into a quiet, 
refreshing sleep. 

When Katie awoke with a little guilty start, 
Candice was once more aroused and crying : 
“ Where am I, Katie ? ” Her voice was weak 
and tremulous. 

“ Hush, darlint ! you must not talk,” Katie 
said, soothingly, noting that this was not deli- 
rium. “ Shure ’tis Katie that’s caring for you ! 
Just lay there quiet like, and look at your 
baby ; ” and Katie laid the infant by her side. 

“ My baby ? ” and Candice gazed at it wonder- 


116 


THE BURDEN OP LIFE. 


ingly, as it lay with its little rosebud face close 
to hers. Now she remembered it all : her flight, 
and the search for Katie. How did she come 
here ? She did not recollect finding her after 
searching so long, but Candice was very weak, 
and in the effort to remember once more fell 
asleep, when Katie stole on tip-toe from the 
room. 

“ The poor dear is better,” she said to her 
sister-in-law, “ and I’m that worn out that if 
you will listen and see when she wakes. I’ll be 
after taking a breath of fresh air.” 

It was that very day Leta and Alda had seen 
her from the window. 

After that Candice’s recovery was quite rapid. 
She would lie for hours at a time watching the 
baby sleeping by her side, and trace in its tiny 
features a resemblance to the young husband at 
Valley Farm. 

“My baby! oh! my baby!” she would whis- 
per to it, softly, “ what a heritage is yours ! ” 
and hot tears would chase each other down her 
pale young cheeks ; but nevertheless she regained 


THK BURDEN OF LIFE. 


117 


her health rapidly, and in a few weeks was able 
to sit in the big easj^-chair, propped up by pil- 
lows. One morning Katie wheeled her to the 
window. Candice started in surprise. The last 
thing she could remember was that the weather 
was cold, bitterly cold, and she was wandering 
out on the streets, friendless and alone ; now the 
trees were full of summer’s foliage, and the sun- 
shine, glinting through the small window panes, 
bathed her pale face in its ruddy glow until it 
looked like that of some fair, pictured saint. 

Candice was changed ; so changed that if 
Mark had passed by at that moment he would 
not have recognized in this pale-faced, sad-eyed 
woman his rose-lipped, bonnie Candice of a little 
over a year ago. 

Her eyes, roving over the busy throngs of 
people passing, saw them not; her thoughts 
were always of Mark, her young husband. She 
was thinking of him now with a yearning ten- 
derness. Had he missed her in the least, or was 
he glad that she had taken her presence from 
out his life, although the shadow yet remained ? 


118 


THE BURDEN OF LIFE. 


Candice’s long auburn curls had been cut off 
close to her head during her sickness, and Katie 
had wrapped them in tissue paper and laid them 
away ; now the young mother’s head was covered 
with boyish locks, crisp and curling, of deepest, 
darkest brown ; not one trace of reddish gold 
remained. And Candice, gazing at her changed 
appearance in the little mirror Katie brought 
her, was glad ; for even if she should meet the 
folks from home they would scarcely recognize 
this dark-haired, widowed mother as the girl 
they remembered. 

Katie was Candice’s most devoted attendant, 
but as the young mother regained her strength 
she noticed that this kind Irish family were 
poor; the little shop barely afforded the com- 
monest *of livings, and Katie was forced to tend 
it more and more, while Pat worked as a day 
laborer whenever he could get work of any 
description whatever to do. 

Candice saw with regret that every little deli- 
cacy was bought expressly for her, and that none 
of the family would touch a morsel of it; she 


THE BURDEN OF LIFE. 


119 


thought with dismay that it was through her 
money was so scarce with the Maguires. The 
doctor’s bills and the additional expense of her- 
self and baby had exhausted their little store of 
money, and Candice saw one day that kind- 
hearted Mrs. Maguire was making overalls at 
five cents a pair, a starvation price, for one of 
the neighboring shops. She was strong enough 
now and must do something. This charitable 
family must not support her in idleness; but 
what could she do with an infant on her hands ? 


120 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE ADVERTISEMENT. 

I T was summer, warm and sultry, and the door 
leading from the sitting-room into the little 
shop where Katie tended was open. Candice, 
watching the kind-hearted Irish girl at her 
work, thought and thought constantly about 
what she could do to earn money, but the baby 
troubled her. What could she do with it? 

Little Mark was crying now and Katie, bust- 
ling in from the shop, took him from his 
mother’s arms. 

“ Shure it’s meself,” she said, laughing gayly, 
“ that can take care of baby better than its own 
mother ! Hush ! hush ! me darlint, Katie don’t 
abuse the boy and mamma does ! ” and she 
tossed him, tumbled him until the little fellow 
actually laughed outright. 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


121 


Katie really took most of the charge of the 
baby, and Candice, noting Katie’s fondness for 
the child, was struck with a new idea. She 
would obtain a situation and Katie could tend 
shop and care for the baby also. Yes ! yes ! 
she must do something, and this was the only 
way; with a roof to cover her own head, she 
would save all her earnings for Katie and the 
baby. 

“ Bring me the papers, Katie, I want to look 
at them,” Candice said, quickly. 

“ I’ll go buy one,” Katie said, quietly, “ for we 
none of us read and there’s none but wrappin’ 
paper in the shop or house.” 

“All right, Katie,” Candice said, cheerfully, 
full of her new project. “ I’ll take baby and 
you buy one of the latest editions,” and Katie, 
obeying, hurried out, wondering what new idea 
Candice had in her head. But it was soon 
explained to her, for the first thing that the 
eyes of Candice noted was an advertisement of 
a position that she felt sure she could fill. It 
ran thus : 


122 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


“Wanted — A young woman as companion 
for an invalid ; must be prepossessing and 
intelligent.” 

Then followed street and number at which 
application was to be made. 

Candice noticed with satisfaction that no 
references were required, and calling Katie in 
she told her briefly what she was going to do. 

“ Oh ! Miss Candice, you must not ! ” and 
Katie shook her head in a negative fashion, 
but when she found that Candice was deter- 
mined she listened more quietly to her plans 
for the future. 

“ You must take care of Baby Mark,” the 
young mother said, with tears in her eyes, 
“ and I will pay you for it, Katie.” 

“ No ! no ! ” Katie said, decidedly. “ I want no 
pay for caring for the darlint ; ” but Candice 
was firm and at last Katie consented reluctantly. 

Now, for the first time since her sickness. Can- 
dice thought with some interest of her appear- 
ance, and concluding to still retain the widow’s 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


123 


costume she manufactured a very becoming 
widow’s cap from some lace that had been 
given to Katie by a kind-hearted mistress, 
and was soft and delicate. Candice surveyed 
it with satisfaction ; it was very becoming. 

But what troubled the young mother most 
was this : her eyes had been weak ever since 
her illness, and it had become necessary for her 
to wear glasses to shield them from the light — 
dark, smoke-colored glasses that hid her eyes so 
completely that one could not tell if they were 
black, blue, gray or brown, and after the first 
glance in the mirror Candice turned away 
sadly. She was not prepossessing ; they would 
not employ her ; but nevertheless she would 
try, and pressing her old black dress out as 
neatly as possible and donning it with the 
widow’s hat and veil, she kissed Baby Mark 
sadly and started to search Chicago for the 
street and number designated in the adver- 
tisement ; but this time it was not such a 
useless quest as her search for Katie had 
been, and she soon found herself, trembling 


124 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


and excited, standing on the steps of a vast 
brown-stone mansion. 

Ringing the bell quickly before her courage 
failed, she waited expectantly. Then she wildly 
thought of fleeing from the spot before the door 
was opened ; but it was too late ; already some 
one was coming. It was a servant. 

“ I called in answer to an advertisement I saw 
in the paper,” Candice said, hurriedly, fearing 
lest she should sink fainting on the door-step. 

The man bade her follow him ; passing through 
the marble-floored hall he opened a door and ush- 
ered her into a room all warmth and sunshine. 
A yellow bird hung in a gilded cage, nearly 
bursting its little throat in song, and an old 
man rose at her entrance. At first almost 
blinded by the flood of brightness in the 
room, such a strong contrast to the dark 
hallway through which she had just passed, 
she did not recognize him. 

“ I came in answer to the advertisement in 
to-day’s paper concerning a companion for an 
invalid,” she said. 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


125 


She had taken a step forward eagerly and 
now, for the first time, gazed at the old man’s 
face ; a startled cry escaped her lips, for it was 
Uncle Sam Desbro who stood before her; had 
he recognized her? 

But no sign of recognition appeared in the 
keen old eyes regarding her curiously, yet 
kindly. 

“ Do you wish the position ? ” he asked. 

Should she tell him yes or, turning, flee from 
his presence ? But he had not recognized her; 
why then should she give up this chance, if 
chance it were, for her own and baby’s support ? 

He would not know her, she was so changed ; 
and then those hateful glasses, how thankful she 
was for them now ! 

With lightning rapidity these thoughts chased 
each other through her brain. No, she would 
not throw this chance away, but trust to the 
changes in her to conceal her identity. 

So, in answer to the old man’s question, she 
responded low and tx’emulously that she would 
like the position if he thought she would suit. 


126 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


Mr. Desbro asked several more questions, 
which she answered as quietly as she could, 
and then in braver tones as she saw she was 
not recognized she told him she was a widow 
with one child, a baby boy, and needed work 
so badly. 

Mr. Desbro was very much interested in this 
pale young woman who stood almost like a cul- 
prit before him ; he thought she was timid and 
pitied her the more, but willingly as he would 
have taken her the baby was a great drawback, 
and he told her so in gentle, kindly tones. 

“ My dear Madam,” he said, earnestly, “ I like 
your face and would give you the preference 
over all the other applicants if it were not for 
one thing, your baby. My ward is in a very 
precarious condition and the least noise excites 
her, s.o we could not very well manage with a 
baby in the house.” 

“ Oh ! sir,” Candice said, eagerly, I did not 
mean that ! Indeed, I would not bring my 
baby here; ’twill be well cared for elsewhere; 
I would ask only that I might see it once in 


THE ADVERTISEMEKT. 


127 


awhile, whenever you could spare me from my 
duties.” 

“ Poor child,” he said, kindly, “ you can come 
then and try it for a time ; if you do not like it, 
of course you need not stay, and you can go and 
visit your baby when you choose. Would you 
like to see Miss Lome, the lady you are to 
attend ? ” 

Candice answered in the affirmative, anxious 
now to have the ordeal over, and see if she 
could withstand another pair of eyes and come 
off unknown. 

Alda was reclining in an invalid’s chair, white 
and weak ; her hands which lay idly clasped in 
her lap were almost transparent, and the blue 
veins looked nearly black by contrast with the 
marble flesh. She was surely approaching closer 
and closer to the other shore ; only a few more 
weeks at the furthest could she linger on earth. 

Mr. Desbro, approaching the invalid, said, 
softly : “ Alda, this is the young woman I 

have engaged as companion to you. She will 
read to you and amuse you when you wish.” 


128 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


“You are very kind, Guardie,” Alda said, 
tremulously, and then a spasm of coughing 
shook and racked her frame ; after this was 
over she gazed curiously at the slight figure 
before her and then, ever courteous to strang- 
ers, said, kindly: 

“You do not look very strong and you are 
tired ; will you not have a chair ? ” 

“ No, thank you,” Candice said, gratefully, 
feeling as if she were in an angel’s presence. 
“ I will hurry home, make a few preparations, 
and return immediately.” 

Mr. Desbro led her back to the cheerful room 
she had first entered, and then told her gravely 
the price he would pay for her services. “ Does 
it suit you?” he said, wondering at her start of 
surprise. 

“ Suit me ! ” she said, sobs almost choking her 
utterance. “ If you only knew what it will be 
to Baby Mark and me ! ” She said this quickly, 
gratefully, not thinking he might recognize that 
name, but he did not, and with a feeling of 
thankfulness in her heart that she would no 


THE ADVERTISEMENT. 


129 


longer be dependent, she hurried rapidly toward 
home and Baby Mark, and catching him up from 
the bed where he was crowing and sucking his 
thumb at her entrance, she hugged him to her 
heart, thankful for the privilege of caring for 
her darling, her precious baby boy. 

Katie was informed of the decision and lis- 
tened wonderingly when Candice told who it 
was wanted her services. 

“ And they did not know you, poor darlint ! ” 
Katie said. “ No wonder, for I would niver 
know you meself if I had not tinded you 
through it all ! ” 

So Candice, after nearly smothering little 
Mark with kisses, left him, jumping and 
crowing contentedly in Katie’s arms, and 
retraced her steps toward the house she had 
left a short time before. 

Her step was almost light, and the future 
looked brighter to her than it had done for 
months ; no longer dependent on others’ 
bounty, she would work, live for Baby Mark ! 

No rustling breeze whispered of the sad-eyed 

8 


130 THE ADVERTISEMENT. 

young husband at Valley Farm, mourning hei 
loss as one dead and blaming himself for her 
shipwrecked life, while his sun seemed forever 
set in darkness ! She imagined him always gay, 
laughing and indolent, with scarcely a thought 
for the young wife he had wronged so cruelly ! 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


131 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ARDUOUS DUTIES. 

I T was no sinecure, this serving as companion 
to an invalid, but work from morning till 
night. “ The spirit is willing, but the flesh is 
weak,” and Candice for the first few days could 
scarcely bear it, and it was only the thought of 
baby that kept her up. 

Strange as it may seem, this dying girl had 
taken a great liking to Candice. 

“ What shall I call you ? ” she had asked 
Candice on her arrival. 

Poor child ! she had not thought of that, and 
under a sudden impulse answered : “ May ; call 

me May, Miss Lome.” 

“ What is your whole name ? ” Alda asked, 
more for something to say than aught else, and 
Candice answered, truthfully enough this time : 


132 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


“ Lee ; my name is Marion Lee, but call me May, 
Miss Lome ; do not call me Mrs. Lee.” 

Alda complied, half wondering at the sharp 
pain in the young voice. How could she guess 
this dark-robed widow was thinking of the inno- 
cent Candice Lee who had gone to Valley Farm, 
and- how that poor, tortured heart was yet quiv- 
ering over the way in which her happy girlhood 
had ended ? 

The hands that smoothed the invalid’s pillows 
were soft and tender, the voice that read to her 
by the hour was low and sweet, and the delicate 
broth and tempting morsels were all prepared by 
May with tender solicitude. 

She looked in her black robes hovering over 
that sick couch like some gracious Sister of 
Charity, some fair, pale nun at her holy minis- 
trations to the sick and dying; and Alda, noting 
the low voice and soft touch, had tenderly 
christened her “ Sister May.” 

And Sister May, who in days gone by had 
looked on this fair girl with envy and jealousy, 
now sought by every means in her power to 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


133 


make her last days pass away at least in con- 
tentment. So essential to Alda’s happiness did 
she become that when she awakened and Sister 
May was not by her side, her young eyes would 
wander restlessly toward the door until she made 
her appearance ; then with a little, contented 
sigh, the invalid would sink back among the pil- 
lows. May, as we must now call her, noticed 
Alda’s partiality, and rarely left her side except 
to go for a few moments to kiss and fondle Baby 
Mark. Each time she gazed at the lovely infant 
it seemed as if Mark, her young husband, were 
before her in miniature. How she missed the 
tiny baby from her life ! No love is like a 
mother’s love ; she longed with a longing, 
sometimes almost unbearable, to stay with 
baby always, and dreaded her return to the 
darkened chamber of sickness. But that was 
impossible. She could not remain with Baby 
Mark ; she knew he was well cared for, as 
Katie loved him dearly and spent every extra 
hour from the shop in fashioning dainty gar- 
ments for her pet, her wee man, as she called 


134 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


him. Candice came less and less frequently on 
account of Alda’s condition. When she did 
come, however, and stretched out her arms to 
him expectantly, he would put his curly head 
close down on Katie’s shoulder and glance in 
roguish rebellion at his anxious, waiting mother ! 
Ah ! babies are tyrants ever, and her heart 
would ache with a dull throbbing pain because 
her baby boy was forgetting her ! 

“ Come, Mark,” she would say, coaxingly ; 
“ come to mamma, darling ! ” but the curly 
blonde head would be instantly laid on Katie’s 
broad shoulder, and the only thing Candice could 
do was to take him forcibly and carry him to 
the window to attract his attention ; then he 
would stay very contentedly with her during 
the remainder of her visit. 

’Twas very hard for her to be parted from 
Baby Mark, very, very hard ; but who would 
want both mother and child ? She must be 
content as it was. Should she not be grateful 
above all else for the situation so opportunely 
obtained ? 


AKDUOUS DUTIESv 


135 


Sometimes when she was reading to Alda her 
eyes would fill with a blinding rush of tears, and 
she would have to turn her head and dash them 
aside hurriedly. Alda must not see her cry. 
But Alda had already noticed the pale girl’s 
sadness, and one day said, kindly, pityingly: 

“Will you not tell me your story. Sister May? 
Tell me why you weep ? Surely sympathy is 
sweet to us all.” 

But Sister May with a cry of intense pain 
sobbed wildly : “ I cannot, oh ! I cannot ! ” 

Alda was not satisfied, and in low, pleading 
tones asked for her confidence. 

“ I will tell you my own heart sorrow first,” 
she said, sadly ; “ then surely you will tell me 
yours ; but you sorrow for the dead, I for the 
living. You think, perhaps. Sister May, that 
thoughts of love and marriage are not for me, 
but I have been foolish enough, wild enough, to 
indulge in them.” 

Here she was interrupted by a spell of cough- 
ing so long t5ontinued that it left her almost 
panting for breath ; then she resumed. 


136 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


“ Last summer,” she said, softly, scarcely 
above her breath, “ I first met him ; he was 
so strong, so masterful, that my heart went out 
to him. I could not help it, though I had no 
right to think of earthly love. 

“ I loved him passionately and I love him yet ! 
Mark! Mark! my darling! ” and a throe of pain 
passed over the lovely face. “ Nay, do not stop 
me,” she continued, as Sister May made a little, 
deprecating gesture and strove to stem the tor- 
rent of her words ; “ I love him, none save God 
knows how well, but he does not know it ; how- 
ever, it is better so, for ah ! my love is not 
returned ! ” 

Mark did not love this dying girl then ! Even 
in that moment Sister May felt a little glad thrill 
steal through her ; then pity for the young crea- 
ture lying so helplessly before her filled her 
heart to the exclusion of all else. Alda’s sorrow 
was almost as great as hers, loving for a year 
this handsome young man, not knowing he was 
already wedded, and finding it at last a case of 
unrequited passion, while the angel of death 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 137 

was hovering over her, waving his black pinions 
above her head and waiting, waiting ! 

‘‘ Now will you not tell me what makes you 
sad?” It was' Alda’s voice, wooing her from 
her reverie. 

Sister May answered, in a tremulous voice : 
“ Miss Lome, I pity you, but oh ! my story is 
too sad for even your sj'^mpathizing ears. I can 
tell you only this — if it were not for my baby 
boy I would not care to live ! The man you 
adore was not untrue to you, for you never pos- 
sessed his love; but my life was cruelly wrecked! 
Miss Lome, my lover, loving me, wedded me and 
broke my heart ! ” 

“ But he is dead,” Alda said, gently, frightened 
at the storm of passion she had awakened in 
pale sad-eyed Sister May. 

“Aye, he is dead to me,” the latter answered, 
almost sternly, but the words “ to me ” were 
very faintly uttered and Alda did not hear 
them ; after this conversation there seemed a 
closer bond between these two fair women, and 
Sister May saw with a heart made still sadder. 


138 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


if that could be, that Alda daily grew weaker 
and weaker. 

Uncle Sam, as Alda always called Mr. Desbro, 
was very grateful to this black-robed woman who 
lingered so patiently at Alda’s side ; not the faint- 
est wish was uttered but she fulfilled it if she 
could. He watched Sister May curiously. Some- 
where in the far away past he had met some one 
who resembled this woman ! Who could it be ? 
He puzzled his brains in vain. A turn of the 
head or some gesture would set him thinking ; 
occasionally it would almost come to him whom 
she resembled most ; then a chance word would 
dispel the illusion, and he would be as completely 
in the dark as ever. This pale-faced widow was 
surely naught to him, yet he took a strange 
interest in her and more than once caught him- 
self thinking about her baby boy. Only her 
glasses saved her from recognition, for if he 
had caught a glimpse of her wine-brown eyes 
the missing link would have been supplied and 
he would have remembered it all. 

Sister May also was drooping. The old man 


ARDUOUS DUTIES. 


139 


saw that. It was very hard on this delicate, ten- 
der woman, this night watching and daily attend- 
ance ; but Alda would have no one else. She 
was selfish, possibly, but who could blame a 
dying girl ? 

The end was very near, and the old man’s 
eyes were suspiciously full of moisture when- 
ever he thought of it; Sister May was more 
attentive than ever; skilful doctors had met 
in earnest consultation, and the word had gone 
forth that Alda might live a day, even a week, 
but surely not longer. The sufferer guessed it 
from their pitying glances. 

“ Tell me, am I going to die ? ” she asked, 
reading her answer in their averted heads and 
saddened looks. She turned her face to the wall 
and lay in silence for some time ; then she said, 
gently : “ Uncle, guardie, I want you to send 

for Mark and Leta.” 

Knowing her pitiful secret, he consented, and 
that very afternoon a message went speeding 
over the wires. 


140 


I WILL GO TO HER. 


(I 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“I WILL GO TO HER.” 

f'piHE leaves were just beginning to fall when 
JL the telegram came to Valley Farm, startling 
the inmates out of their accustomed quiet. 

Alda dying ! poor Alda ! so very young to die ! 

Mrs. Maynard had not been very strong for 
some time, and the shock nearly unnerved her. 

“ I cannot leave mother,” Leta said, ner- 
vously ; “ and oh ! I cannot see Alda die ! 
Do not ask me to go ! ” 

Mark had answered, sternly : “ Shame on 

you, Leta, for a coward ! You must go, child ; 
she has sent for you, remember, and I will go 
to her.” 

So Mark and Leta, with saddened hearts, 
hastened as fast as steam could carry them 
toward the city where Alda lay dying. 


141 


“l WILL GO TO HER.” 

Alice was Mrs. Maynard’s greatest comfort 
now ; badly as the young girl wanted to see her 
dying friend, she would not leave her mother; 
so she was obliged to be content and wait for 
further tidings, w'hich Mark had promised they 
would surely send. 

Uncle Sam met the arrivals when they 
alighted from the hack at the gate. He shook 
hands with Mark kindly and touched his lips 
to Leta’s forehead in greeting. 

“ How is she ? ” Mark almost whispered. 

“ Still with us, that is all,” the old man 
answered, sadly, “ and hourly asking for you.” 

A servant conducted them to their rooms, 
where they washed away the dust of travel 
and brushed their disordered hair ; then, 
quietly, they awaited the summons to the 
sick room. It came at last, and with soft 
tread and saddened mien they entered the 
chamber. It was darkened ; only a faint 
gleam of daylight shone through the closed 
shutters ; some moments elapsed before Mark 
and Leta became accustomed to the gloom ; 


142 "l WILL ao TO HER.” 

then Alda spoke ; her voice was soft and low 
like the wind playing over the strings of a 
broken harp. 

“ Mark and Leta, come to me,” she said. 

Mark bent his handsome head reverently as 
he approached the dying girl, and, taking her 
poor little hand, said, brokenly : “ Alda ! oh ! 

Alda!” That was all; his strong young voice, 
now as tender as a woman’s, faltered and broke, 
while tears which were no disgrace to his 
manhood coursed down his sun-bronzed cheeks. 

“ Do not weep ! ” Alda said, gently. “ Be- 
lieve me, dear friends, it is best as it is. I 
could never be well and strong like others, 
and it is better, much better, for me to be 
at rest! Mark!” and Alda’s voice sank almost 
to a whisper, “ Mark ! oh ! my love, I could not 
die without seeing you once more ! Girls do 
not generally tell their love,” she added, with a 
little, wan smile, “ but this is different, Mark, 
for I am dying ! ” 

No one noticed the black-robed Sister May, 
crouching by the chair on which Alda was 


143 


“l WILL GO TO HER.” 

lying; no one noticed the storm of sobs which 
shook her slender frame at the sound of her 
young husband’s agitated voice. 

“ Alda ! oh ! Alda ! my pure white dove, I 
am not worthy of such love as yours ! ” Mark 
groaned. 

How did this black-robed kneeler know his 
heart was torn by bitter, reproachful thoughts ? 
How did she know that this last confession of 
the dying girl was as so many dagger points 
piercing his heart ? 

He had sinned, had wrecked his own life by his 
indolent ways ; his wife, his poor, wronged dar- 
ling, he had driven from him, and now this con- 
fession came to him from Alda’s dying bed, and 
well he knew he was not wholly guiltless. He 
had won her love carelessly, thoughtlessly, and 
he a married man ; but she did not know it, did 
not dream of it. 

“ You will not leave me, Mark ? ” 

“ No, I will not leave you, dear ! ” and Mark, 
with her frail young hands clasped closely in 
his, stood quietly, patiently waiting. Once the 
pale lips murmured faintly, and Mark, bending 


144 


“l WILL GO TO HER.” 

above her, heard her sweet voice speak his name 
and then these words : 

“ Will you not kiss me, Mark ? ” 

He complied, tenderly, lovingly, pressing his 
warm young lips to hers, already chilled by death. 

All through the long hours of the night he 
sat there, scarcely stirring for fear of disturbing 
her ; but when the first gray streaks of morning 
shone in the leaden sky they noticed a change in 
her, and, standing silently about the couch, they 
sadly awaited the end. 

The eyelids fluttered, opened, and gazing at 
them from the very borders of the other world, 
Alda noted only two faces and her pale lips 
whispered : “ Mark ! Guardie ! ” 

Then all was over ; the spirit no longer inhab- 
ited that fair tenement of flesh ; Alda Lome was 
with the angels ! 

Stifled sobs filled that chamber of death; 
when the old man, stretching out his kind old 
arms and finding naught but emptiness, stag- 
gered from the room, it was black-robed Sister 
May who led him tenderly away and cheered 
him with loving words of comfort. 


NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 


145 


CHAPTER XV. 

NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 

T he last sad rites had been paid to the dead, 
and Alda slept under the waving grasses 
and fresh mold in the old churchyard. 

Only these words, “Asleep in Jesus,” and 
then further up on the cold marble surface 
of the tombstone was traced, “ Alda Lome ; 
aged 19 years and 21 days.” 

That was all ; but oh ! how much it meant 
to the saddened hearts left behind. Mr. 
Desbro spent hours at a time in his own 
room, seeing no one, and scarcely eating or 
sleeping. Mark and Leta still lingered, for 
they could not leave the kind old man so 
prostrated by grief. 

The only person who could rouse him was 
May, and as she went around, silently minis- 
9 


146 


NEW ARKANGKMENTS. 


tering to his wants, she looked indeed like 
some kind Sister of Charity. 

Mark watched her wonderingly. He too was 
struck by the resemblance she bore to some one 
he had seen ; but after pondering on the subject 
for some time he gave it up. It was only fancy, 
perhaps, yet the remembrance would come back 
with startling force. He had surely met this 
silent, pale woman before ! 

Once he came upon her suddenly in the old 
library. She was hunting a book to read to 
his Uncle Sam ; for a moment he watched her 
silently ; the sad, pale, high-bred face, the 
rounded arm from which her sleeve fell 
gracefully away as she reached for a book on 
one of the higher shelves, all seemed strangely 
familiar to him. Her glasses were in her hand, 
and her eyes, large and pitifully sad, were 
eagerly scanning the tiers of volumes. A move- 
ment betrayed his presence, and in a twinkling 
those hateful glasses were quickly replaced. 

“ Did I startle you ? ” he asked, kindly, 
noticing her agitation. 


NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 


147 


“ Oh ! no ! ” and the answer was almost 
inaudible. Grasping the first book her hand 
came in contact with, she hurried from the room. 

How could he know that her heart was almost 
bursting with sorrow, and that this hired com- 
panion of the dead girl was longing to extend 
her arms to him and sob out her pain on his 
shoulder? He never even suspected that she 
ran straight to her own room and, locking the 
door, sobbed bitterly over her shattered life, 
and that the glasses that covered her eyes 
were thrown aside hurriedly as if she almost 
hated the sight of them ! It was well he had not 
seen those eyes closely; those wonderful wine- 
brown orbs would have betrayed her instantly. 

The widow’s cap had fallen off, and the short, 
clustering curls of darkest brown were tossed 
and tumbled. “ Oh ! baby ! baby ! ” she moaned, 
“ but for you I too could die ! ” The storm of 
grief, however, was soon spent; smoothing her 
hair plainly across her forehead and donning 
once more the widow’s cap and glasses, she 
again sought the lonely old man. He was sit- 


148 


NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 


ting by the window, gazing absently out; he 
looked up glad to see her enter. 

‘‘ What would I do without you ! ” he said, 
sadl 3 ^ “ You are my only comfort now ! ” 

“ But, Mr. Desbro, you must remember,” she 
said softly, in reply, ‘‘that I have nothing to 
keep me here longer. You engaged me as com- 
panion to Miss Lome; she has left us, and 1 
must go back to Baby Mark.” 

“ True ; I had forgotten,” he said, noting her 
drooping form and saddened face.' “I have been 
selfish in my grief. You can go back to your 
baby, but you cannot stay. I cannot get along 
without you, child, and you can bring your baby 
with you to help cheer the old man’s life ! You 
are alone in the world,” he added, as she hesi- 
tated. “ Why should we not comfort one 
another ? Bring your baby, Mrs. Lee, and 
make this your home for the future ; I cannot 
forget your kindness to the dead ! ” 

She consented, almost stunned by her good 
fortune. 

“ I thank you,” she said, brokenly, “ for what 


NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 


149 


you have offered me — a home and the privilege 
of caring for my Baby Mark ! ” 

“What did you call him?” the old man asked, 
quickly ; he had noticed the name for the first 
time. What should she do ? Mr. Desbro was 
watching her narrowly and she answered, as 
quietly as she could : 

“ His name is Mark, the same as that of your 
nephew.” 

“ Mark Lee ! ” the old man said, dreamily. 
“ ’Tis a strange coincidence, for Lee was 
Sister Annie’s name ! ” 

Her heart was throbbing painfully, and to 
escape observation she commenced tidying up 
the room. The old man did not notice her agi- 
tation; he was thinking of the baby, and in a 
few moments he said, almost harshly: 

“ Mrs. Lee, you must not call your baby 
Mark. Call him Tom, Dick or Harry, anything 
but that; I do not like the name ! ” 

“ How would Sam suit you ? ” she answered, 
quietly. “ I will call him what you wish, you 
have been so kind to me.” 


150 


NEW ARKANGEMENTS. 


So it was all arranged. Mrs. Lee was to have 
a short rest and then come back to the brown- 
stone house, bringing little Sam with her. 

Mark and Leta still lingered, but Mark was 
restless and wandered all over the city, peering 
into each face as if half expecting to meet his 
young girl-wife somewhere. She had seemed 
very near to him of late ; he found himself 
picturing her face as it used to look at Val- 
ley Farm ; first, like a dainty rosebud ; next, 
pale and spiritless, as in the weeks before her 
disappearance. Where was she now? Perhaps 
buried in a pauper’s grave ! Perhaps — and 
here he stopped, for wherever she was, his 
Candice, he knew, was pure and good. 

A summons to return came to them from 
Valley Farm, and now the old man would be 
left in utter loneliness; they wanted him to go 
with them, but he would not; he did not tell 
them so, but he could not bear to meet Kezia, 
who had used her sister Annie’s child so cruelly. 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


161 


CHAPTER XVI. 

FOREIGN LANDS. 

M ark and Leta returned to Valley Farm, 
saddened by the scenes just witnessed, 
and found their mother quite prostrated; but 
she soon regained her usual health, and then 
life went on there as usual; but Mark was 
changed more than ever, and, to his sisters’ 
deep regret and his mother’s sorrow, com- 
menced making preparations to go abroad. 

“ I cannot stay here, mother,” he said, in 
answer to her tears and entreaties; “I must 
go, I must travel, or I believe I will go mad ! ” 
Then Mrs. Maynard had given her consent. 
When she saw the mute anguish in his eyes, 
she hastened his departure, for was she not 
to blame for his darkened life ? Everything 
was in readiness, when an imperative message 


152 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


was received from his uncle, commanding his 
immediate presence as he was Alda’s heir, the 
inheritor of all her vast possessions. Never 
until now did Mark realize how well this fair 
girl had loved him, and he thought with regret 
of the money left to him so unexpectedly; but 
it was lawfully his, and so he started for Chicago 
with a heart heavier than lead. 

His uncle met him kindly, hut Mark always 
felt embarrassed in his presence, and was glad 
when the preliminaries were over and the matter 
was settled. He was fabulously rich, thanks to 
fair Alda Lome. 

A few weeks later, a vessel sailing from New 
York bore Mark Maynard among her passen- 
gers, an exile from friends and home, a misera- 
bly unhappy man ; his own follies had made him 
what he was. Even his wealth could not buy 
him happiness. Remorse gnawed at his heart- 
strings, and now in foreign climes he sought 
forgetfulness. 

He had entrusted all his money matters to 
Uncle Sam, who was to see to everything during 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


153 


his absence. The look of hopeless misery on 
the young man’s face had touched his uncle’s 
heart at last, and he pitied his nephew who had 
been punished so severely. 

Mrs. Lee was once more domiciled at the 
brown-stone house, and Baby Sam, as she tried 
to call him but failed sometimes, was getting 
used to his new quarters. His mamma had 
been almost strange to him at first, but by 
dint of coaxing and loving words he gradually 
became accustomed to his new surroundings 
and crowed as contentedly as he did in Katie’s 
brawny arms. 

Katie, poor girl, was at first inconsolable over 
the loss of her “wee man,” and shed tears copi- 
ously, although she did not try to keep him one 
minute from his young mother. 

“ He’ll forget poor Katie,” she said, sadly, but 
was finally comforted by a promise from Candice 
to come often and bring the baby with her to see 
his kind nurse. “Shure ’tis tearing me heart- 
strings, it is,” she said, plaintively, “ but Katie 
will niver stand in the darlint’s light ! ” With 


154 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


her blue checked apron to her eyes, she had 
shed a perfect torrent of tears, when like April 
sunshine the smiles broke through. She kissed 
and fondled the baby, and then, handing him to 
his mother, went into the cottage and shut the 
door, for she could not bear to watch him vanish 
from her sight. 

Candice went away heavy-hearted ; but Mark 
was hers ; she could not give him up, and Katie 
would soon get used to his absence. 

The mother tried at first to keep the child out 
of Mr. Desbro’s sight as much as possible. “ He 
may not like babies,” she thought, nervously, 
and little Sam had been there several weeks 
before the old man asked for him. 

‘‘Mrs. Lee,” he said suddenly one day, “where 
is your baby ? I have not seen him yet.” 

“ He is here,” she said. “ I thought he had 
disturbed you ere this ; he’s a noisy little fellow,” 
she continued, with a thrill of pride in her gentle 
voice. 

“Go get him, my dear,” Mr. Desbro said, 
quietly. “ I must become acquainted with the 
little fellow.” 


rOKEIGN LANDS. 


155 


Candice complied, eager to show her dainty- 
darling, but trembled when she noticed once 
more the startling resemblance the child bore 
to his young father, now sailing across the 
ocean. 

Had Mr. Desbro heard aught of her sad story? 
She did not know ; she could not guess ; but if 
he had, and there was at least a possibility of 
it, might he not suspect her ? This then would 
decide it all; with the baby, kicking and crow- 
ing lustily, she entered the old man’s presence 
and held her darling out straight before him, 
saying : 

“ Mr. Desbro, this is my boy, my Baby Sam ! ” 

She looked at him in fear. Yes, it was just as 
she expected ; he was gazing at the little fellow 
with a wondering, surprised look in his eyes. 

“ Is he not a fine boy ? ” she said, trying to 
speak quietly, but her voice trembled as she 
spoke. 

“ Strange I never thought of that ! ” he said, 
abruptly. “ My dear, will you tell me what his 
own name is ? ” 


156 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


“ Mark,” she replied ; her lips could scarcely 
form the word. 

“ How old is he ? ” Now Mr. Desbro was 
looking straight at her. 

“ One year old next January, the seventh day 
of the month.” 

“Just as I thought! ” he said, briefly. “Now, 
Mrs. Lee, will you humor an old man’s whims 
yet a little further by removing your cap and 
glasses ? I have a fancy to see how you look 
without them ! ” 

Ah ! heavens ! he knew her then, and she 
would soon be homeless and friendless once 
more ! She was almost tempted to snatch her 
baby boy closer to her heart and hurry from 
the house ; anything rather than see those kind 
old eyes harden in anger toward her, for had 
not Mrs. Maynard said he never wished to look 
upon Annie or hers again ? 

She did not turn and flee, however, but stood 
there, staring at him helplessly. Had she not 
suffered enough already for this kind old man 
to be spared to her ? 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


157 


For just one moment Samuel Desbro waited, 
and then, before she was aware of his intention, 
he had stepped to her side and with one dex- 
trous turn of the hand had swept cap and glasses 
from her! 

There she stood before him, her wine-brown 
eyes fixed on him imploringly, a slim, dark-robed 
girl, with ringlets of darkest brown covering her 
shapely head. There she stood, the picture of 
abject woe, waiting for him to inflict still greater 
torture. 

“ Poor child ! ” The words were spoken softly. 

Could it be possible he did not quite hate her 
then ? 

“ Uncle Sam,” she sobbed, wildly, “ believe 
me, I have done no wrong ! Can you not for- 
give my mother now, and pity her wretched 
child?” 

“ Forgive your mother, girl ? I have nothing 
to forgive, and I thank God that you are spared 
to me in my old age ! ” 

Now she was sobbing in his arms, and Baby 
Mark, in round-eyed wonder, gazed at them for 


158 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


one minute, then set up an infantile cry of alarm 
that soon recalled them to themselves. 

The whole sad story was then repeated. Can- 
dice dwelt as lightly as possible on her treat- 
ment at Valley Farm, and only by the drawn 
lips and panting breath did Uncle Sam know 
how much she had suffered. She told of her 
appeal to her young husband and her own 
miserable suspicions concerning his love for 
Alda ; then of her flight through the cold 
and darkness, her search for Katie and how 
it ended, and of her sickness and Baby Mark. 

“ You know the rest,” she said, softly ; 
“ how I came in answer to your advertise- 
ment. You took me in, and now Baby Mark 
has betrayed me ! ” 

Uncle Sam informed her of Mark’s confes- 
sion after her flight, of the search which ended 
so fruitlessly, and of Mark’s miserable, saddened 
life. Candice wept softly during the recital, but 
her tears were tears of thankfulness, for was not 
the shadow lifted from about her life ? Her 
young husband had acknowledged her ! 


FOREIGN LANDS. 


159 


“We never thought of the baby,” the old 
man said, sadly. “ Candice, my poor girl, how 
much you have suffered through other people’s 
wrong doings ! Hereafter, your life shall be 
all sunshine, and Baby Mark’s bed shall be of 
down ! We will call him Mark Samuel ! ” he 
said, pleasantly, trying to bring a smile to 
Candice’s sad young lips. 

“ Uncle, where is Mark, my husband ? ” 

Then he told her that, restless and dispirited, 
Mark had gone over the waters to find some 
“balm in Gilead,” if that were possible. 

“ Poor Mark ! he too has suffered ! ” Candice 
said, sadly; “but, uncle, you must promise me 
something. When Mark returns, I must don 
my widow’s cap and glasses undisturbed, and 
let him find for himself the wife he would not 
acknowledge ! I will not go to him and say, ‘ I 
am Candice ; take me back ! ’ He must win 
me, prove his love, before I return to him ! ” 

The old man promised gladly, respecting her 
the more for her decision. 


160 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


AMUEL DESBRO was greatly pleased to 



discover his niece in Mrs. Lee, and little 
Mark became a perfect tyrant ; nothing was too 
good for Candice and her baby. Katie had 
been installed as nurse, and was nearly wild 
with happiness over the way in which things 
had turned out. 

“ You desarve it all, Miss Candice,” she said, 
warmly. “ Shure ’tis Katie knows the angel of 
goodness ye are, more shame to some that don’t 
appreciate — ” 

“ Hush ! Katie,” interrupted Candice ; “ we 
must not censure others. What would have 
become of the ‘ angel of goodness ’ if it hadn’t 
been for Katie Maguire ? ” 

Katie was vanquished and spoiled little Mark 
the more for it. 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


161 


Candice was almost happy. It was only when 
she thought of Mark that her gentle heart was 
saddened ; still she was determined not to call 
him back. She became blooming and cheerful 
once more under the wealth of affection that 
was lavished upon her. She yet wore her 
widow’s garb, leaving off the cap and glasses 
to please Uncle Sam. If any of the folks come 
from Valley Farm,” she said earnestly, “ I must 
don them again; they must know me only as 
Mrs. Lee, your late ward’s companion.” But no 
one came from the farm. Mrs. Maynard was 
broken in health and the girls could not be 
spared ; so Uncle Sam and Candice were 
undisturbed in their calm serenity. 

Two months, three months passed, and still 
they had not heard from the wanderer. He 
corresponded with the home folks, who wrote 
Uncle Sam occasionally, informing him of 
Mark’s whereabouts. 

At last a letter came, post-marked London.” 
The young man wrote in glowing terms of the 
places he had visited and the sights he had seen ; 

10 


162 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


but through it all ran such sadness that Candice 
felt hot tears blind her eyes as she read. 

“ I know not when I shall come back, if ever,” 
he wrote in conclusion. “ I have nothing left to 
call me home save mother and the girls, and they 
can do without me. Perhaps this restlessness 
will wear away at last, and then I will return.” 

A few days later, at Uncle Sam’s dictation 
Candice answered Mark’s letter, stating how his 
business affairs stood and then giving all the 
items they thought might be of interest to him. 
She pressed a kiss upon the written words over 
which her young husband’s eyes would wander. 

Month after month elapsed; Baby Mark was 
now walking all over the house, his fond nurse, 
Katie, watching him rapturously as she noted 
each newly-gained infant accomplishment. 

“ He’s the smartest baby in the world ! ” she 
said, shaking her fiery head knowingly ; “ shure 
Katie’s traveled clear from auld Ireland, and 
she niver saw the likes of him before ! ” Of 
course. Uncle Sam and mamma acquiesced in 
this decision. 


LETTEES FROM ABROAD. 


163 


The home folks at Valley Farm heard 
strange rumors in regard to Uncle Sam and 
the young widow in whom he had taken so 
much interest; such interest, in fact, that even 
Alda’s death had lost its bitterness. Some 
actually went so far as to say that an old fool 
is the biggest fool of all, and that there was no 
knowing what might happen, for report credited 
the widow with being very lovely. Mrs. May- 
nard wrote to Mark about it, wondering if it 
could be true, and for once Mark was interested 
in the news from home. He recalled the young 
widow who had interested him so strangely. 
‘‘ Some low adventuress ” his mother termed 
her, but he thought of Candice and turned 
half angrily from the letter. Might not his 
wife be wandering somewhere on earth, alone 
and friendless, as this widow seemed to be ! If 
she should find a home in her dire extremity, 
might not these same motives be imputed to his 
pure white darling ? Ah ! no ! he would not 
judge this fair young widow, who had found 
refuge beneath his uncle’s roof ! 


164 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


Mark read the letters from his Uncle Sam, 
written in a delicate female hand, with more 
interest than heretofore, and unconsciously, 
when he answered them, poured out his very 
soul on the paper’s smooth, white surface. 
He wrote to her, not as the adventuress, but 
as the black-robed Sister May he had seen so 
devoted to fair Alda Lome and to the kind old 
man who, in his bereavement, would have sunk 
beneath the burden but for the cheering words 
spoken by her sweet, patient voice. 

Uncle Sam, after the first letter came, never 
seemed half so much interested in Mark’s wan- 
derings as he had heretofore been; when the 
next one arrived he handed it to Candice, say-> 
ing: “You read it, my dear, and tell me how 
he is. I believe the boy is crazy to write such 
letters to his old uncle ! I don’t want to hear 
the trash ! I can’t understand it ! ” 

Candice was glad ; she could not bear to read 
her husband’s epistles aloud, for it seemed to her 
like sacrilege to do so. Soon Uncle Sam’s name 
was unconsciously dropped, and the letters, post- 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


165 


marked from different cities in the old country, 
were simply directed to Mrs. Lee. Was it not 
singular that this husband and wife should be 
writing to each other as the veriest strangers ? 
But so it was, and Mark caught himself thinking 
about this Mrs. Lee more than he cared to admit. 

He had known very little about his young 
wife after all ; and he thought wonderingly, 
as he gazed at the last letter from the Queen 
City, that he had never seen her handwriting — 
his wooing had been brief and their married 
life a mistake. Mortified and heart-broken, 
Candice had left him without a word or a 
written line. 

Letters passed freely between Mark and his 
uncle’s prot^g^e, and thoughts of home fre- 
quently intruded themselves upon the young 
man. He had been absent a year, and was long- 
ing for a sight of familiar faces. One night, a 
few weeks afterwards, he stood on the deck of 
a homeward bound vessel, gazing at the fast 
vanishing shore he was leaving behind. 

Sometimes he was glad he was returning, and 


166 


LETTERS FROM ABROAD. 


then he felt angered that he had obeyed his 
heart’s impulses and was speeding back to the 
home where naught but disappointment could 
possibly await him. 

He sent a telegram to his uncle, when he 
arrived in New York, to inform him that he 
would be with him in a few days. The news 
came like a clap of thunder in their midst. 

“ What shall I do, uncle ? ” Candice said, trem- 
blingly. “ He must not know me ; I must again 
put on my cap and glasses.” 

“Wear your glasses, my dear,” her uncle 
responded, smoothing her short curls affec- 
tionately, “ but do not cover these ! He will 
not know them. He remembers them as red, 
and they are darkest brown now.” 

She consented ; but oh ! how she dreaded 
to meet Mark ! Would he not recognize her 
immediately ? 

Baby Mark, through some strange infantile 
freak, called Uncle Sam papa. In vain they 
strove to teach him to say grandpa as more 
suitable j it was always papa! 


HOME AGAIN. 


1C7 


CHAPTER XVm. 

HOME AGAIN. 

E agerly Mark ascended the steps of the 
brown-stone mansion and rang the bell. 
Ah ! it was delightful to be at home again. He 
realized now what it was to be a wanderer for- 
ever in a strange land. After all, home is the 
dearest spot on earth ! 

The servant was very long in answering the 
summons, and, impatient at the delay, Mark 
opened the door and entered the old hallway. 
A tiny figure came toward him. It was Baby 
Mark ; he had escaped from Katie and was try- 
ing to find Uncle Sam, who always petted and 
caressed him. He saw the wanderer standing 
in the hallway and toddled forward eagerly ; 
the little one did not notice that he was a 
stranger, but, stretching out his small arms, 
said, coaxingly: 


168 


HOME AGAIN. 


“Oh! I’se found my pitty papa! Won’t oo 
hold me tight and not let Katie find me ? ” 

Mark, seeing the child’s mistake, took the 
chubby treasure in his arms and kissed him 
passionately. He, too, he thought, might have 
had a wife and child but for his follies ; now, 
he must live his life alone ; and hot tears fell 
on the little fellow’s curly head. 

“What 00 crying for?” said baby, lookifig up 
at him wonderingly. Sure enough, what was he 
crying for? 

Baby Mark was a precocious child, never 
afraid of strangers, and, after the first amazed 
look when he found out his mistake, he rested 
contentedly in the strong arms encircling him. 
With the child still clinging about his neck, 
Mark entered the sitting-room, where he knew 
his uncle spent most of his time. 

Yes ! there he was, sitting by the fire, half 
asleep. 

“Uncle!” 

“ Bless my soul, Mark ! is that you ? ” the old 
man exclaimed, rising hastily and shaking the 


HOME AGAIN. 


169 


extended hand. “I am glad to see you, my 
dear boy; but where did you find the baby?” 
he continued, gazing in astonishment at the 
child clinging so contentedly about the young 
man’s neck. 

“ Don’t he belong here ? ” Mark asked. “ I 
found him in the hallway, hunting for his 
‘ pitty papa,’ and thought he was some visitor’s 
child.” 

“ Yes, he belongs here,” Uncle Sam answered, 
hastily; “he is Mrs. Lee’s little boy.” 

“ Ah ! indeed ! ” and Mark gazed at the child 
curiously. What a fine boy he was ! The 
young man had not thought much of his 
own appearance lately, or he certainly would 
have noticed the startling resemblance the 
child bore to himself. 

The little fellow was sitting contentedly in 
Mark’s lap, when the door opened softly and 
some one paused on the threshold. Uncle 
Sam glanced up quickly and noticed a timid, 
shrinking, girlish figure standing there. 

“ Come in, my dear.” 


170 


HOME AGAIN. 


Candice advanced quietly, but her eyes behind 
the dark-hued glasses were wild and troubled. 

“This is my nephew, Mark Maynard, Mrs. 
Lee.” 

She held out her hand to welcome him, and he 
clasped it lightly. He did not recognize her, 
although the fair profile turned toward him was 
startlingly familiar. The hair deceived him — 
those rippling waves of darkest brown. 

“ Come to mamma, baby ; nurse wants you,” 
Candice said, coaxingly, anxious to escape from 
the room. But baby would not stir ; he only 
clung the tighter to his unknown friend. 

It was a strange sight, this lovely baby cling- 
ing so closely about Mark’s neck ; and he, uncon- 
scious it was his own child he was caressing, was 
pleased at his infantile rebellion. 

“ Let him stay, my dear,” the old man said, 
kindly ; “ he has taken a notion to Mark ! ” 

Candice, her eyes dim with tears, hurried from 
the room. 

Mark lingered for several weeks in the city, as 
his business required considerable attention. He 


HOME AGAIN. 171 

told his uncle he had not touched one cent of 
Alda’s money because he felt so unworthy of 
her generosity. 

Day by day Mark was thrown into the society 
of Mrs. Lee and her baby boy, but somehow he 
had never noticed Katie. He often found him- 
self wondering who it was Mrs. Lee resembled 
so much, and it came to him suddenly that 
it was Candice, his wronged young wife ! 
From the fancied resemblance he became fond 
of her society, and was content only in her 
presence. Sometimes he imagined she, too, 
felt interested in him. What did it mean, he 
repeatedly asked himself, this interest he felt 
in one who rumor reported was soon to be 
the old man’s bride ? What was she or her 
baby to him ? And his sad heart answered, 
“ Nothing ! ” It was part of his punishment 
perhaps, he thought, bitterly, to find this fair, 
sad woman who resembled his lost wife, and 
regard her with a love that could bring him 
naught but pain ! 

One evening, after his uncle had retired and 


172 


HOME AGAIN. 


when Mrs. Lee, with some dainty needle-work in 
her hand, was sitting quietly sewing by the light 
of the chandelier, he determined to tell her his 
sad experience. Why should he not ? He was 
going away in the morning, and her pity would 
be something for him to think of in the years 
to come. 

“ Mrs. Lee,” he said, sadly, “ I should like to 
tell you my life story. Would you care to listen 
to me?” 

She nodded her head gently. It was coming 
at last, this story she knew so well ! Was he 
as repentant as he seemed? She would know 
everything now! 

“ I made a great mistake,” Mark said, with a 
quiver of pain in his young voice, “ a mistake 
that has wrecked my fondest hopes ! ” And 
then he told her all, blaming himself alone 
for his unhappiness. He said in conclusion : 
“ Do you think I can ever be happy again, 
Mrs. Lee ? I have not yet told you I have pre- 
sumed to love once more 1 It can do no harm 
to inform you,” he continued, dreamily, “that 


HOME AGAIN. 


173 


I, with my ruined life, have dared to love you, 
Mrs. Lee, knowing as I do that I can never offer 
you my heart and hand ! ” 

She looked up quickly, joyously; he loved 
her then, after all this weary waiting ! He 
loved her, and had been true to his young 
wife always ! Her work dropped from her 
nerveless hands ; but she could not reveal 
herself yet, no ! no ! 

‘‘ Your story saddens me,” she said, in a low 
tone, “ but I am greatly interested in it. I also 
have had troubles of which I will tell you in the 
morning, if you desire to listen. I, too, have 
been foolish enough to care for you ! ” 

She quitted him without another v^ord, and he 
was alone. She cared for him then ! Was it not 
bitterly unjust' that he should suffer so cruelly 
for that one wrong committed in his youth ? He 
would seek her in the morning, bid her good-bye 
and go abroad again ; after visiting the folks at 
home ; he could not remain here longer. 

What was that ? The door-bell ringing at 
this late hour in the evening! Mark answered 


174 


HOME AGAIN. 


it hastily ; a messenger boy stood on the door- 
step. Mark took the telegram ; it was addressed 
to himself, and opening it he read : 

“Come home at once. Alice.” 

Seeking his uncle, Mark told him of the 
message and then at once prepared for his 
departure. 


leta’s elopement. 


176 


CHAPTER XIX. 


LETAS ELOPEMENT. 



T Valley Farm life dragged on monoto- 


nously. Alice noted her mother’s rest- 
less, dissatisfied manner, and tried by gentle 
feminine arts to win her from herself; but 
it was of no avail, for remorse was gnawing 
at this proud woman’s heart. She would have 
given anything could she have had Mark and 
Candice with her as of old. 

With Leta the time hung heavily at first, and 
then she plunged, almost recklessly, into soci- 
ety pleasures. Was it any wonder that a bright 
young girl should prefer the companionship of 
those of her own age and gay assemblies to the 
saddened atmosphere of her home ? 

Mrs. Maynard could not bear the sight or 
sound of revelry, and utterly refused to have 


176 


leta’s elopement. 


any social gatherings at the farm house ; so 
both girls went more and more into society, 
shunning the darkened rooms at Valley Farm. 
Leta was much admired, and flattery soon turned 
her head. 

About this time there came to the neighbor- 
hood a good-looking young stranger calling him- 
self Leon Tatro. He claimed to be of French 
descent, and no one could doubt the assertion 
after a glance at his darkly handsome face and 
hearing his unmistakable accent. 

At first, many were the whisperings and sur- 
mises in regard to him, but when Dame Rumor 
credited him with possessing immense wealth 
and an ivy-grown villa in the southern part 
of France, the story flew from lip to lip until 
the proudest and most aristocratic families 
opened their doors wider and wider, inviting 
this foreigner to visit them. For a time he 
shunned their advances, «and then society, feel- 
ing aggrieved, redoubled its efforts to draw 
him into the gay whirlpool of well-bred dissipa- 
tion. Gradually he accepted the invitations, 


leta’s elopement. 


177 


and the proud families that entertained him 
royally smiled scornfully at their less fortunate 
neighbors. 

That Leon Tatro was handsome the most fas- 
tidious could not deny. Large and muscular, 
yet carrying himself with a stately grace hard 
to imitate, he had a face worthy of a line of 
titled ancestors, so deeply was the seal of pride 
stamped upon the haughty features. His eyes 
were dark and melancholy in their expression, 
yet sometimes, when most courted as society’s 
favorite, a cruel gleam would come into their 
liquid depths, making him appear like some 
Satanic agent, biding his time to commit some 
evil act. 

Dame Rumor also gave him a title along with 
his immense wealth, and so foolish are Americans 
as a general rule where noblemen are concerned 
that it imparted additional glory to his already 
seemingly enviable position. Managing mam- 
mas courted him assiduously all for their sweet 
daughters’ sakes, and the fairest of the fair 
smiled encouragingly at his approach. 

11 


178 


leta’s elopement. 


At one of the numerous social gatherings Leta 
met this Leon Tatro, and after that night life 
was never the same to her again. He, on his 
side, sought her as persistently as he had refused 
all other overtures. 

Leta was visiting a friend in a neighboring 
town, and Leon haunted her steps continually. 
At the opera and other entertainments he was 
her most constant attendant, and at last, poor 
girl, she learned the lesson of loving ‘‘ not 
wisely, but too well.” 

“ My darling ! ” 

Leon Tatro had followed Leta from the heated 
atmosphere of the ball-room out on the wide, 
cool veranda that night, when these two words 
fell on her waiting ear like liquid melody. She 
stood gazing at him expectantly, with a strange 
feeling of distrust for she knew not what. 

Surely this was the supreme moment in a 
woman’s life, when the man she loves acknowl- 
edges his love for her in return ! 

“ My darling ! I may call you that, may I 
not ? I am not deceived ; I have read in your 


leta’s elopement. 


179 


sweet eyes a love for me equal to that I feel 
for you ! ” 

Why did she not cry out indignantly, and 
spurn him from her like some polluted thing ? 
Why did not some pitying angel show this girl 
the blighted lives for which this ardent lover, 
pleading so humbly before her, was not wholly 
blameless ! Alas ! she stood there quietly, her 
fair head bowed before him, suffering his kisses 
to be placed on cheeks and red, trembling lips. 

When she returned to the ball-room her eyes 
shone like twin stars, and her step was light and 
buoyant as she moved among the .dancers. The 
glare and glitter of the fete were all unnoticed 
by her. W as she not his love, his choice ? Ah ! 
yes ; but Leon Tatro’s love was to be the curse 
instead of the crown of her life ! 

After that night, Leta lived as in a dream. 
Her handsome, noble lover was all in all to her, 
yet ever and anon a sickening distrust would 
assail her. Why, she could not tell. As well 
ask the wind why it rustled the leaves in the 
tree-tops and expect an answer! 


180 


leta’s elopement. 


When Leta returned to Valley Farm she 
became gloomy and taciturn. The sunshine 
seemed less bright to her and the atmosphere 
oppressive. She wished Leon to acknowledge 
their engagement, but he delayed it from day 
to day, seemingly unconscious of the wrong he 
was thus doing his fair fiancee. Several times 
she was on the verge of telling her mother all, 
when some cold word, some slight repulse, inva- 
riably checked her and she remained silent. 
How much misery Leta would have avoided 
had she bravely spoken ! 

Alice and Leta were rather given to ridiculing 
each other’s love affairs ; therefore the latter 
never for one moment thought of making 
a confidante of her sister. Thus the weeks 
dragged along. Mark was writing vaguely of 
his return home at no distant date, when 
society, for miles and miles about Valley 
Farm, was shocked, horrified, at several events 
that occurred in rapid succession. 

Articles of value were missing from nearly 
every wealthy mansion in the vicinity. One 


leta’s elopement. 


181 


farmer had sold his wheat at the adjacent 
town, and was knocked down and robbed of 
the proceeds while on his way home through 
the gathering darkness. Many were the whis- 
pered surmises in regard to the rascal or rascals 
who infested the locality. Each farm house was 
fortified by new catches to the windows, and 
burglar alarms were as thick as flowers in June. 
Leon Tatro suggested several theories in relation 
to the matter, and instituted a seemingly careful 
search through the neighborhood for some trace 
of the lawless ruffians, but no sign of them was 
found. The excitement was gradually dying 
out, when once agairi the shock came. The 
bank in the neighboring town was robbed so 
cleverly and with such alarming results that 
the whole country for miles around was 
startled. The night watchman was overcome, 
chloroformed, and hurled out of doors; the safe 
was blown open, and the money and valuables 
abstracted. A policeman passing along shortly 
afterwards noticed nothing amiss until he 
stumbled over the body of the watchman. 


182 


leta’s elopement. 


lying directly in his path. Immediately the 
alarm was given and search instantly made, 
but the robber and his spoils had vanished as 
completely as if the earth had hidden them in 
her bosom. 

That same night Beta was missing from Val- 
ley Farm. She had taken everything she pos- 
sessed — her clothes and her jewelry — leaving a 
note behind, which ran as follows : 

‘‘ Mother : I am going to leave you and 
Valley Farm for a husband and home of my 
own. I cannot explain at present, but some 
time you will know. I am sorry to leave 
Alice and you, but, mother, I cannot give 
him up. Beta.” 

Mrs. Maynard was found by Alice in the 
morning, sitting by the lire and muttering inco- 
herently. Her eyes were haggard and tearless, 
and she babbled incessantly of Mark and Can- 
dice, always of Mark and Candice, and never a 
word of the daughter who had tried her proud 


I, eta’s elopement. 


183 


old heart so sorely. Surely this was retribution 
for her treatment of her son’s wife ! 

Alice placed her mother in bed and sent for 
the physician, Avho shook his head gravely. 

“ Has she sustained a sudden shock ? ” he 
asked. 

“ She has been much tried lately,” Alice 
answered, evasively. 

“ Brain fever,” the doctor said, and so it 
proved. Week after week Alice nursed her 
mother patiently. To all inquiries concerning 
her sister she invariably replied : “ Leta has 

gone on a visit.” 

But Alice grew pale and heavy-eyed; even 
Ann, the stolid German servant, noted her 
drooping appearance with a doleful shake of 
the head, and tried in her stupid, kindly way 
to make the burden a little lighter for the 
young girl’s shoulders. 


184 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


CHAPTER XX. 

IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 

M rs. MAYNARD, struggling back from the 
dim borders of the spirit-land, frequently 
asked herself : “ Is life worth living ? ” But she 

grew stronger day by day until pronounced con- 
valescent. Then she took up the threads of her 
life again and strove to be as of old, but made 
a miserable failure. The haughty, supercilious 
woman of the past had vanished, and a broken- 
hearted, sad-eyed woman had replaced her. 

Beta’s name never crossed Mrs. Maynard’s lips 
in all these weeks. Alice alone knew that her 
mother kept solitary vigil far into the night, and 
that when she retired her pillow would be wet 
with tears and her slumber fitful and broken. 

Alice was changed also ; she had become a 
very self-reliant young woman, managing the 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


185 


house and superintending the outside work 
successfully. Leta’s elopement had deprived 
her of all taste for society, and she steadily 
refused to attend social gatherings. 

Leon Tatro was now generally conceded to 
be the scoundrel who had robbed the bank. 
Handbills were posted all over the country, 
describing his appearance and offering liberal 
rewards for his capture. Leta’s continued 
absence also occasioned remark. Some heads, 
wiser than others, put this and that together 
until the whole shameful story was suspected. 

One neighbor, more daring than the rest, vol- 
unteered to visit Valley Farm to find out the 
truth of the matter. This neighbor, Mrs. Levy, 
was noted for her long tongue. She was a viva- 
cious little woman, but rather injudicious in her 
remarks. She was not a favorite with the May- 
nard family, and had never been a frequent visi- 
tor at their house. When she presented herself 
on this occasion, she was received with cool 
politeness. 

Nothing daunted, she kept up a perfect stream 


186 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


of small talk, telling the latest news in her spi- 
ciest manner. At last she broached the subject 
of Tatro’s disappearance, and noted with inward 
satisfaction Alice’s start of surprise when the 
date was mentioned. Summoning all her cour- 
age, she remarked to Mrs. Maynard : 

“ I am so sorry Leta went aw'ay about that 
time. People w’ill talk, you know, and gossip 
reports that Leon Tatro and Leta departed 
together. Of course, it is untrue, but — ” 

“ That will do, Mrs. Levy.” It was Mrs. 
Maynard who spoke, in a. voice so hoarse with 
anger and emotion that Alice looked up at her 
w'onderingly. 

Mrs. Levy paused abruptly, and her eyes sank 
beneath the indignant mother’s glance. 

“ Of course, you cannot blame me, Mrs. 
Maynard,” she resumed. “I only mentioned 
the coincidence. It is strange, is it not?” 

“ Mrs. Levy,” — Mrs. Maynard had now 
regained her composure, although her voice 
still trembled with emotion — “ I am entirely 
able to attend to my own affairs, and I shall 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


187 


surely not publish my private troubles to the 
four winds of heaven by confiding them to 
you ! ” 

“ Do you mean to insinuate that I am a 
gossip ? ” Mrs. Levy asked, angrily. 

‘‘I insinuate nothing,” Mrs. Maynard an- 
swered, proudly ; “ I state a fact. Good 

afternoon, Mrs. Levy!” 

“ Mother, perhaps Mark is in Chicago ! ” 
Alice broke the silence shortly after their unwel- 
come visitor’s departure with this remark. 

“ It is strange we do not hear from him ! ” 
Mrs. Maynard said, with an anxious tone in her 
voice. “Alice, do you think it would do any 
good to telegraph to Chicago ? Perhaps he is 
at Uncle Sam’s.” 

“ I don’t know, I am sure, mother,” Alice 
answered with a sigh, “ but I guess I will try 
it once more ; ” and rising, she put on her out- 
door wraps and started for the station. “ Don’t 
wait tea for me, mother,” she called out when 
nearly at the gate. “ I will walk slowly, for I am 
tired of indoor life.” 


188 IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 

Mrs. Maynard did not heed the injunction. 
She waited patiently for her daughter’s re- 
appearance, and they sat down to their even- 
ing meal, waited on attentively by kind-hearted 
Ann. 

‘‘ Did you send the message ?” Mrs. Maynard 
asked the question anxiously. 

“ I did,” Alice responded, “ and I am in 
hopes Mark is at uncle’s, transacting his busi- 
ness affairs. It’s my opinion, mother, he intends 
to surprise us by returning home unexpectedly.” 

“ Let us hope that nothing serious delays him,” 
Mrs. Maynard rejoined, sadly. 

The next morning Mrs. Maynard was fever- 
ishly restless, and strayed from room to room 
aimlessly. She looked over the household 
linen, darned it carefully, and then wandered 
down to the shore of Fairy Lake. The little 
sheet of water was in rather a demoralized con- 
‘dition, the hired men not being adepts in fish- 
raising and proper drainage. Mrs. Maynard 
looked at it regretfully; the master hand was 
absent, and everything was going to rack and 


ruin. 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


189 


But who was coming along the well-beaten 
path from the station ? Her eyes were dim 
with tears, and she brushed them hastily away 
that she might see more distinctly. It was not 
the farm hand, that handsome, manly figure 
walking so erectly, but Mark, her son, and 
with a glad cry and outstretched hands she 
hurried to meet him. 

‘‘ Mother, are you pleased to see me ? ” 

“ I am delighted ! ” she answered, with a 
burst of happy tears. “ Mark, we need ypu 
here so much ! ” 

“Are you in trouble, mother?” 

He asked for the news as quietly as he could, 
yet noted with pain the traces of care on that 
once haughty face, and the sharp outlines which 
were before almost girlishly rounded. 

Mrs. Maynard shrank as from a blow at his 
kindly question and answered evasively, all the 
time hurrying him toward the house. Alice 
came to meet them, and greeted Mark lovingly. 
But something was missing; what was it? He 
looked around the old familiar room and thought 
of Candice regretfully. 


190 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


“ Mother, where is Leta, that she does not 
bid me welcome home ? ” 

Mrs. Maynard motioned Alice to leave the 
room, and when they were alone told him all. 
He listened like one dazed. First wife, then sis- 
ter ! Surely it was more than he could endure. 
He questioned his mother calmly even to the 
minutest item, and then rose from his chair 
hurriedly. 

“ Where are you going, Mark ? What are you 
going to do ? ” Mrs. Maynard asked, anxiously, 
as Mark once more donned his hat and took up 
his traveling valise. 

“■ I am going to find Leta and bring her home, 
mother ! If this thing is true that gossip reports 
and the man calling himself Leon Tatro has 
ruined my sister’s life, one of us must die ! ” 

“ Mark, my son, do nothing rashly ! ” She 
was in front of him now, clinging to his firm 
w'hite hands helplessly. Remember, Mark, 
Alice and you are all I have left in this 
w’ide world ! In the heat of anger don’t 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 


191 


endanger your life, but think of your old 
mother, waiting for you at home ! ” 

“ I will do nothing rashly, mother, hut I 
will bring Leta to you ; and now, mother 
mine, am I not a six-footer and able to take 
care of myself ? So don’t worry over me, and 
good-bye ! ” He imprinted a kiss on her trembling 
lips and was gone. 

The train for Chicago was due in a few min- 
utes, and with long, rapid strides he hurried 
toward the station. The ticket agent glanced 
up wonderingly at his re-appearance ; Mark 
merely nodded to him in recognition, and, 
seating himself on one of the hard, wooden 
benches, eagerly awaited the train’s arrival. 

Soon he was speeding hack over the same 
road he had just traveled, speeding onward 
with one thought, and that the rescue of his 
sister Leta. 

Such a home-coming ! Would it be another 
fruitless search? Was Leta lost to them, gone 
like Candice out of their lives forever? Then 
his mind reverted to the evening before. 


192 


IS LIFE WORTH LIVING ? 


What would Mrs. Lee think of him after his 
avowal and his disappearance before he had 
heard the explanation she had promised to 
give him ? He recalled it all : their quiet 
chat together by the fireside; her timid admis- 
sion that she cared for him; and then the 
telegram. 

“ It is just as well,” he thought, moodily. 
‘‘What right have I to worry her with my 
troubles? And if it be true that Uncle Sam 
cares for her, then am I a brute, indeed ! 
Oh ! Candice ! Candice ! ” 


WAITING. 


193 


CHAPTER XXI, 


WAITING. 


Among the crowd with busy feet, 
My eye seeks one it cannot find. 


While others haste their friends to greet, 


Why, why is he so long behind ? 


— Hannah F, Gould. 


ANDICE anxiously awaited Mark’s appear- 



V_/ ance at the breakfast table the next 
morning, but he did not appear. Uncle Sam 
watched her with a merry twinkle in his eyes, 
and noted her eager, questioning glances with a 


smile. 


“Who are you waiting for, Candice?” he 
asked, carelessly. 

Candice started half guiltily from her expec- 
tant attitude and poured out the hot, steaming 
coffee so recklessly that the cup and saucer both 
overflowed. 

“You’re getting generous, my dear,” Uncle 


12 


194 


WAITING. 


Sam said, laughing good-naturedly; “that will 
do, never mind,” he continued, as she reached 
for another cup and saucer. “ By the way,” the 
old man remarked, after a slight pause, “ my 
nephew was called home last night quite sud- 
denly by a telegram. Kezia is getting anxious 
about him, I suppose.” 

“ You are sure it is nothing else, uncle ? You 
are keeping nothing worse from me ? ” 

“ Of course not, child. Why should I keep 
bad news from you ? The boy thought he had 
better go, that is all.” 

That was all ! but was it not enough to forego 
the explanation she had intended making ? She 
could scarcely keep the tears from her eyes 
during the meal, and was glad when it was over 
that she might return to her room to indulge in 
the luxury of a good fit of weeping. 

“What 00 cryin’ for, mamma? Don’t oo know 
I’se dood ? ” said little Mark, looking at her with 
a suspicious moisture in his own eyes. 

Candice only wept the more at his childish 
attempts to soothe her. 


WAITING. 


195 


“ Oh ! baby ! baby ! ” she exclaimed, passion- 
ately, straining him to her heart. “ If papa 
could only know how we love him ! ” 

“ Don’t 00 cry any more,” Baby Mark replied, 
lovingly, winding his chubby arms about her 
neck. “ I’ll be big ’fore long, then I’ll be oo 
papa, and oo’l be my own bu’ful mamma, 
won’t 00?” 

“ Yes, darling ! ” Candice answered, smiling. 
“ When you get big you’ll take care of mamma, 
won’t you ?” 

“ Oo bet 1 ” said the little fellow, with such a 
look of eager expectation on his infantile fea- 
tures that Candice laughed heartily at his quaint 
remarks, and for a short time at least the storm 
was over. She tried to think it would be only a 
brief period before Mark would return, but days 
passed in rapid succession and still no tidings 
came from Valley Farm. Then pride once more 
came to the rescue. “ He cares no more for 
Mrs. Lee than for the Candice of old,” she 
thought, and she would look for him no 
longer. He had not changed for the better. 


196 


WAITING. 


but still delighted in winning women’s hearts 
to break them ! He was not worth a thought ; 
yet, all the same, her mind dwelt upon him more 
than she would acknowledge, even to herself. 

“ Candice, Mark is in town,” Uncle Sam told 
her, in a very matter-of-fact tone. 

“ Indeed ! ” She tried to answer quietly, but 
her heart was palpitating at the news, although 
she did not vouchsafe another word. 

“ I invited him up ; he is stopping at the 
Denison, I believe.” 

“ My regard for Mr. Mark Maynard is so slight 
that I do not wish to see him again ! ” Candice 
replied, passionately. 

“Tush, tush, child! don’t get excited! I’m 
sure the lad means well ; and just now he looks 
in need of all our sympathy. What the trouble 
is I cannot imagine. He said he was here on 
business and had no time to come to the house.” 

“ I am glad of it ! ” Candice returned, almost 
spitefully. She thought he might have spared 
her his roundabout explanation and told the 
truth. He did not care to come ! 


WAITING. 


197 


“ You are getting cynical, my dear ; you need 
company to enliven you,” Uncle Sam said, 
cheerily. “ There’s nothing like society for 
the young.” 

That evening Uncle Sam was delighted to 
find Candice entertaining company in the par- 
lor on his return home, after visiting the hotel 
on a fruitless search for his nephew. 

“ Mrs. Chamberlain, my guardian, Mr. Des- 
bro,” and Uncle Sam found himself bowing 
politely before the dashing widow. 

“ I regret that I did not make an earlier call,” 
the lady said, laughingly, “ but I am always a 
laggard in forming new friendships. You will 
forgive me, will you not?” with a glance at 
Uncle Sam’s face meant to be very coy and 
charming. 

“ That’s all right,” Uncle Sam said, bluntly. 

The old adage fits very well in this case, for 
it’s ‘ better late than never,’ and I think a little 
company might do Mrs. Lee a power of good.” 

“ Being near neighbors, I hope we will see 
much of each other,” Mrs. Chamberlain said, 


198 


WAITING. 


graciously, but whether Mrs. Lee or Uncle Sam 
was meant it was hard to determine. Uncle 
Sam was no society man, and he met her 
advances coolly enough. As soon as she had 
departed, Candice said, merrily: 

“ Uncle Sam, I believe you’ve made what the 
vulgar call a mash ! ” 

‘‘A what?” Uncle Sam asked, wonderingly. 

Candice laughed gayly at his perplexity. 

Uncle Sam was astounded. What had he 
done ? He looked so comical in his bewilder- 
ment that Candice said: 

“Why, Uncle Sam, don’t you know? Mrs. 
Chamberlain has fallen in love with you ! ” 

“ Oh ! what foolishness ! ” Uncle Sam an- 
swered, testily. “ What attractions can a 
decent-looking woman see in an old fogy like 
myself?” 

“ If she could see you with my eyes,” Candice 
said, warmly, “ she would acknowledge you to 
be the dearest man in the world, uncle, if not 
the youngest and most handsome ! ” 

“ Flatterer ! ” he replied. “ You will spoil me 


WAITING. 


199 


entirely! I shall begin to think I’m a second 
Apollo ! I guess that’s the right name, is it 
not, Candice, for the handsomest man in the 
world?” 

That night Candice was restless. She tossed 
from side to side on her pillow, and sleep refused 
to come to her weary eyelids. Life seemed so 
long to this poor girl, so unutterably long and 
dreary without the sunshine of love to light her 
way! At last she arose from the bed and, 
throwing a black zephyr shawl about her 
shoulders, seated herself by the window, where 
the cold rays of the moon, playing hide and 
seek among the whispering leaves of the tree- 
tops, touched the window-panes with silvery 
brightness. 

Candice’s face shone pale and beautiful as the 
flickering, dancing moonbeams crowned her with 
a halo like some fair, pictured saint. The lines 
about her mouth were tightly drawn as memories 
of the past came thronging to her. Was it not 
terrible that she should suffer so cruelly for 
wrongs done by others? 


200 


WAITING. 


Hark! what was that? A muffled, fumblinh 
noise outside her chamber door ! Some one 
tried to open it, but it was locked on the 
inside. Who could it be ? 

A low voice whispered : “ Miss Candice ! 

“ Is that jou, Katie ? ” asked Candice, as she 
crossed the room rapidly to open the door. 
“What in the world is the matter?” 

The girl came hurriedly into the room, and 
sank trembling on a chair. 

“ Is little Mark sick ? ” continued Candice ; 
“ tell me, Katie, quickly what is the matter ! ” 

Katie strove to compose herself sufficiently to 
speak, and in a terrified whisper at last said, 
warningly : 

“ Hush, Miss Candice ! They might kill us if 
they heard ! Something must be done ! ” 

“ Tell me what is the matter, Katie ! Can 
you not see you are frightening me nearly to 
death ? ” 

“ Sh ! sh ! Miss Candice ! Spake softly like, 
or the divils will overhear us shure ! ” 

“ Who will overhear us, Katie ? Answer me ! ” 


WAITING. 


201 


Candice took the quivering girl by the shoul- 
ders and shook her as hard as she could with her 
trembling hands. 

“ Bugglers are in the house, Miss Candice ! ” 
whispered Katie. “ They’re in the lib’ry now ! 
Shure, what can we do agin two men ! ” 

“ You are sure there are only two, Katie ?” 
“Faith, and ain’t that enough, Miss Candice? — 
two men prowlin’ around in the dead of night ! ” 
Candice opened her chamber door to listen, 
and Katie, seeing her mistress so composed, 
tip-toed close at her side. 

Yes ! there was surely some one in the 
library! If they descended the front stairs 
the robbers would hear them and doubtless 
make good their escape. There was a back 
staircase, and scarcely knowing what she in- 
tended to do, Candice beckoned Katie to follow 
her. Softly the trembling girls stole down to 
the dining-room and into the kitchen. Unbolt- 
ing the door, Candice looked out into the dark- 
ness, but no one was in sight. Down the street 
she heard the measured tramp, tramp of a night 
watchman. 


202 


WAITING. 


“ Katie,” Candice said, hurriedly, “ run for 
your life and summon help ! Call the police- 
man and have him bring assistance ; I will wait 
for you here.” 

Quick as a flash Katie was off. Her Irish wit 
had grasped the situation, and as noiselessly as a 
shadow she moved down the deserted street. 

Candice, cowering beside the door, waiting for 
help, was in an agony of apprehension. Suppose 
Uncle Sam should awaken and, hearing an unu- 
sual noise in the front part of the house, attempt 
to investigate the cause of it? Hot-headed as 
any youth, he would not stand tamely by and 
permit the rascals to walk off with their booty. 
She knew his money and valuable papers were 
in the library, and if he should go there she 
feared for his life. Oh ! heavens ! would Katie 
never come back ! 

Silently as the fabled ghosts of old, dark 
figures moved up the street and paused at 
the door where Candice was waiting so impa- 
tiently. She saw their badges glistening in the 
moonlight and knew that help had come. Surely 
Katie had fulfilled her mission faithfully. 


WAITING. 


203 


With trembling steps and wildlj-beating heart 
Candice, without a word, beckoned them to fol- 
low her. Up the little back staircase they filed, 
and then stood for a moment listening. Noises, 
though slight, were still heard in the library, and 
cautiously the men descended the stairs, pausing 
at the library door. 

“ Trapped ! ” cried a man’s voice, angrily, and 
then all was noise and confusion. 


204 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


CHAPTER xxn. 

NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 

M rs. MAYNARD waited impatiently for a 
message from Mark, but none arrived. 
When Saturday evening came he made his 
appearance, looking haggard and wan. 

“ What news ? ” Mrs. Maynard’s lips framed 
the question and Mark answered, sadly: 

“ None !” 

Alice waited anxiously until he should tell 
them of his quest, but he seemed strangely 
reticent, as if he feared to wotind them by 
any allusion to their trouble. 

The following week Mark remained at home 
and gathered together every fragment of mat- 
ter that had the slightest bearing on the case 
constantly in his thoughts. 

The watchman, still far from well, willingly 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


205 


gave his mite of information. The robber, he 
said, was tall and dark. He wore a diamond 
ring on one of his fingers, for he had seen 
it sparkle in the moonlight when the murder- 
ous blow was descending that nearly deprived 
him of life. 

Mark then visited Mrs. Levy, and that oblig- 
ing lady received him with considerable astonish- 
ment. He led her to talk of the current society 
gossip, but what did he care if Miss Araminta 
Smith was going to marry the Right Honorable 
Mr. O’Neil, or that she had ordered her trous- 
seau direct from the great man-milliner Worth? 
What did Mark care if Mrs. Levy’s crazy patch- 
work had taken the premium at seven different 
fairs ? 

At last a more interesting subject was broached. 
Mrs. Levy’s pet hobby was diamonds, and by dint 
of coaxing, storming and cajoling, she had finally 
succeeded in inducing her liege lord to purchase 
her a set, consisting of ear-rings, a pin and a 
ring, of which she was foolishly proud, dis- 
playing them on every occasion. Mark, know- 


206 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


ing her weakness, commenced praising them 
extravagantly. 

“My ring is nothing compared to Mr. Tatro’s,” 
Mrs. Levy said, with a little regretful sigh ; “ the 
diamond in his was as large as three or four of 
mine. If I only had that ring — ” 

But Mark had heard all he wished to hear, and 
was rising from his chair. 

“ What ! are you going so soon ? I am so 
sorry! Let me order wine and cake, will you 
not?” 

“ No, thanks. I am in a hurry and cannot 
wait. Good morning, Mrs. Levy.” That worthy 
lady was highly incensed at the abruptness of her 
visitor’s departure, but Mark had found out all 
he wished to know. Leon Tatro and the bank 
robber were one, at least that was the conclusion 
he had arrived at, and he thought bitterly how 
easily some people were duped by a good-looking 
young stranger. 

Mark was restless again and anxious to be up 
and doing. Once more he traveled toward the 
Queen City in quest of his sister. 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


207 


He felt an intense longing to see Mrs. Lee, but 
knew the meeting could only be productive of 
misery to them both. 

He met his Uncle Sam one day, but shrank 
from telling him of the additional trouble at 
home. If he could only find Leta honorably 
married, his mind would be at rest, but if she 
should be dragged down to the depths of 
infamy, perhaps broken-hearted and deserted, 
then he would take her quietly home, and no 
one should be the wiser. 

“ If I could only find her,” was the constant 
burden of his thoughts. Passing along the 
street one evening, a woman hurried by him j 
he started eagerly forward, for the profile turned 
toward him timidly was surely that of his lost 
sister, Leta ! 

Too dazed to speak, he hurried after her, but 
the crowd surged between them, and he lost 
sight of the dark-robed figure. On, on, he 
went, with eager eyes, but she had vanished 
completely. No, there she was again, standing 
in front of one of the windows of a huge fancy 


208 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


goods store. The glare of the electric lights 
almost blinded him for a few minutes, but 
hurrying forward he peered at her excitedly. 

Thank God ! that brazen-faced, bedizzened 
wreck was not Leta ! She glanced at him 
with words of blasphemy upon her lips. Mark 
turned shudderingly away. Accustomed as he 
was to scenes of all descriptions, he could not 
bear to look upon this wreck of womankind. 

That he had seen Leta and had again lost her 
in the crowd he was confident. Disappointed, 
he wandered away from the crowded thorough- 
fare, where the passers-by jostled each other as 
they hurried along. 

All trace of Leta was now gone, and Mark 
returned to his hotel sad and dispirited ; but he 
had found a clue, and Leta was surely in the 
city; there was some consolation in that. 

‘‘Leta: Let me hear from you. Mark.” 

This advertisement appeared in the columns 
of the morning papers a few days afterwards. 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


■209 


Candice saw it and noted the nanaes carelessly; 
it was a coincidence, nothing more ; then she 
passed on to items of greater interest, never 
dreaming that Mark, her husband, was the 
advertiser, or Leta the haughty girl of long 
ago ! 

No answer canie to Mark’s appeah If Leta 
was the person he had seen tha^ night, then she 
was determined to remain undiscovered. 

On a stormy night when the wind was blowing 
a gale and great torrents of rain dashed against 
the window-panes, Mark exclaimed, as he thrust 
the poker into the fire savagely: “What a 
beastly night it is ! Yet I am tempted to defy 
the elements and visit the theatre. Let’s see, 
what is to be played to-night ? Ah ! yes ! 
Minnie Palmer appears in ‘My Sweetheart.’ 
I believe I’ll venture ! ” 

Donning his evening suit, with a rubber coat 
enveloping him completely, he sauntered from 
the hotel, striving to find relief for a few hours, 
at least, from his torturing thoughts. 

Mark rather enjoyed this war of the elements, 

13 


210 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


and, with his handsome head bent, went on and 
on. What a noble young man he seemed ! 
Many a water-soaked mortal gazed after him 
admiringly, he appeared so supremely uncon- 
scious of the disagreeable aspect out-door lift 
presented. 

At the theatre all was light and warmth. 
“ Surely the fools are not all dead yet ! ” 
Mark thought, grimly, as he made his way 
through a perfect sea of people. 

He was in the parquet, close to the orchestra, 
which was playing “ My Queen.” Mark listened 
until the last notes of the sweet melody melted 
away ; then he raised his eyes and gazed 
across at the opposite box. Instantly the look 
of ennui left his face, and he arose eagerly, but 
again resumed his seat when he saw he had not 
been observed by the person who was enchaining 
his attention so completely that he barely noticed 
the favorite star when she came bounding on 
the stage. 

In robes of some sheeny fabric of delic^ite 
azure hue and with a dainty bonnet of the 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS 


211 


same color, sprinkled here and there with 
pearls, sat Mrs. Lee. Girlishly fair she looked, 
and from his seat at the opposite side of the 
building it seemed to Mark as if his young girl- 
wife was before him. Uncle Sam was with her, 
but who was the neatly attired woman in widow’s 
weeds, W'ho seemed to be of the same party ? 

“ Mrs. Led has discarded mourning,” he 
thought, bitterly. “ Perhaps the rumors are 
true, after all, and Uncle Sam will soon lead 
her to the altar.” The idea was torture to him, 
■and he turned his head away, determined not to 
feast his eyes on the loveliness that could never 
be his. But try as he would to confine his atten- 
tion to the stage and the charming little actress, 
it was of no avail. His thoughts would wander 
to the occupants of the box across the way, and 
his eyes would involuntarily seek the fair face 
of Mrs. Lee. 

“ Bless my soul ! there’s Mark ! ” Uncle Sam 
exclaimed, as he saw his nephew gazing directly 
at him. “ Candice, have you noticed Mark in 
the parquet ? I shall sign to him to come here. 


212 


NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


and then I’ll make the young fellow give an 

account of himself ! A pretty way this is for 

him to use his old uncle ! ” 

“ Uncle Sam,” Candice said, pleadingly, “ for 

my sake let him alone. Do not ask him a single 

question. If he does not want to come to us, 

why should we care ? ” There was a quiver of 
. . , . ♦ 
pain in the sweet young voice. 

But Uncle Sam had already made the sign, 

and Mark was on his way to the box. 

Candice felt a thrill of pride as she gazed at 

his erect carriage and blonde head held proudly ; 

he was her husband, her own ; and yet she must 

treat him like the veriest stranger ! 

Mrs. Chamberlain was introduced, and the fair 

Minnie Palmer warbled her sweetest, but Mark 

had eyes only for one fair face, the face of Mrs. 

Lee. When they separated that night, Mark 

had promised his uncle to make an early call. 


‘•MY love! my wife!” 


213 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“ MY LOVE ! MY WIFE ! ” 

HEN the word “ Trapped ! ” fell on Can- 



dice’s listening ear, her composure 


deserted her and she sank on the landing, 
completely unnerved, but entirely conscious of 
all that was going on below. At first there 
was noise and confusion, and then two pistol 
shots rang out on the quiet midnight air. 

“What in God’s name is the matter?” 

Uncle Sam, in his long white night-shirt, 
looked like the ghost of Hamlet’s father; 
but the ludicrous aspect he presented was 
unnoticed, and the astonished old gentleman 
was too much amazed to give a thought to 
his appearance as he hastily descended the 
stairs. He had been awakened by the strange 
noises and the report of the fire-arms. The 


214 


“ MY LOVE ! MY WIFE ! ” 


library door was open, and the first glance told 
him what had happened. 

Several policemen were struggling with what 
seemed to be a raging maniac, while one man 
lay handcuffed on the floor. In a few minutes 
that appeared like ages the second ruffian was 
conquered; the handcuffs closed on his wrists 
with a sharp click, and the midnight robbers 
were prisoners. 

“We arrived just in the nick of time, sir,” a 
burly policeman said, espying Uncle Sam in the 
doorway. “ Pretty Jim is a slippery un, but he’s 
fast enough now ! ” 

The servants were hurrying hither and thither 
and the house was in a perfect whirl of excite- 
ment. One of the robbers was w'ounded, and 
it was thought dangerously, so, while his com- 
panion in crime was being marched off to the 
police station, a physician was summoned. 

Katie w'as found on the upper landing, weep- 
ing over her young mistress, who had fainted, 
and declaring that she was “ kilt intirely.” She 
grew nearly wild with joy when Candice regained 


consciousness. 


“mt love! my wife!” 


215 


After the excitement had somewhat subsided 
and Uncle Sam had changed his night robe for 
more suitable attire, he returned to the room in 
which the dying man lay. The wretch was fast 
approaching dissolution, and in his delirium he 
cried out, passionately : “ My darling ! my wife ! 
Oh ! Leta, come to me ! ” 

“ Surely this man was made for better things,” 
Uncle Sam thought, as he gazed at the handsome 
face and manly form of the robber, but little did 
he dream it was for his own niece, Leta Maynard, 
the scoundrel was calling so wildly! 

When the physician arrived and examined the 
man, he said he was beyond reach of medical 
aid, and that it would be inhuman to remove 
him to the police station. Candice, pitying 
him in her innocent heart, strove to allay his 
suffering. 

“Are you Leta?” he asked her, in a faint 
voice, as she bent over him. “ Oh ! yes ! I 
know you are Leta, only your hair is dark, 
while my darling’s is like spun gold ! ” 

No need for handcuffs now ! He would 


216 


“my love! my wipe!” 


never commit another crime ! “ Pretty Jim ” 

the policemen called him. He had been a 
“ shady ” character for years, a leader in 
shrewd confidence games and the principal in 
many daring robberies. 

Mark, opening his paper the following morn- 
ing, saw an account of the attempted burglary, 
and at once hastened to his uncle’s residence. 
He followed Mrs. Lee into the room where 
the wounded robber lay; at the first glance he 
started back amazed. Could that noble-looking 
man be a common housebreaker ? “ What 

strange freaks nature sometimes indulges in ! ” 
he thought. “ There is a rascal of the first 
water with the face of a prince!” So lost in 
reverie was Mark that when Mrs. Lee spoke to 
him softly and hastened from the room, he 
scarcely heeded her departure. 

What was the dying man muttering? Mark 
bent his head and listened with eager attention, 
for he was certain his lips had murmured the 
name of Leta! 

“Am I dying?” the man asked, abruptly. 


“my love! my wife!” 217 

“I fear you are, my poor fellow,” Mark 
answered. 

Raising himself from the bed, the robber 
looked eagerly into Mark’s face. 

“ You are an honest man,” he said, gloomily. 
“ Once I was so, too ! Do you believe me ? ” 

“I do,” Mark answered earnestly, and his 
tone carried conviction with it. 

“ Then, for what I have been, will you do me 
a favor ? ” 

“ I will,” Mark said, solemnly. 

As if a reaction had come, the man sank 
wearily on his pillow. Was he going to die 
without another word ? No ; his eyes suddenly 
opened again ; they were full of tears. 

“ Shall I send for a minister ? ” Mark asked. 

“ No ! no ! ” the man replied, vehemently. He 
raised one hand to his brow and pushed back the 
heavy masses of dark hair as if their weight 
oppressed him; as he did so, Mark noticed, 
with a start, a magnificent diamond ring 
sparkling on the robber’s finger. 

“ An heirloom,” he said, noting Mark’s linger- 


218 


“ MY LOVE ! MY WIFE ! ” 


ing gaze. ‘‘ Will you remove it for me and when 
I am dead take it, with the papers you will find 
in my inside coat-pocket, to the person to whom 
they are addressed ? ” 

“ I will do as you wish,” Mark answered. 

If Candice’s husband was to find out if the 
man before him was indeed Leon Tatro, he must 
do it at once. 

“Will you tell me who Leta is?” he asked, 
placing his mouth close to the dying man’s ear. 

As if that name had power to call him back 
to life from death, his eyes opened, and “ Leta, 
my love ! my wife ! ” issued from his lips. The 
words floated out with his last breath, and he 
was gone. 

Mark took the ring from his .finger i and the 
packet of papers from his pocket as he had 
promised. He looked with curiosity at the 
packet ; it was addressed to “ The Countess 
Lucerne,” and inside the larger envelope, which 
was unsealed, was a sealed package. Mechani- 
cally Mark drew this out ; when he glanced at 
the address upon it he uttered an exclamation of 


‘my love! my wipe!” 219 

joy, for the name “ Leta Maynard Tatro ” stood 
out before his eyes ! Again he looked. Ah ! 
yes ! the street and number of the house were 
there too — a little, unfashionable street, far 
away from the crowded thoroughfares. 

Even though his sister was this outlaw’s wife, 
Mark was conscious of a feeling of thankfulness 
that she was wedded ; but still the matter must 
be kept a secret ; Leta’s name must not be 
coupled with that of a double-dyed ruffian. 

Buttoning his coat carefully over the precious 
package, Mark noiselessly quitted the room. 
Mrs. Lee was in the act of entering, but he 
motioned her back. 

“ Is he dead ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes,” Mark answered, as he signed to the 
policeman, who was keeping guard outside the 
door, to enter. 


220 


A wife’s devotion. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A wife’s devotion. 

T he robber was dead, and the law had no 
further hold upon him. After the usual 
preliminaries, Mark bought a lot in the ceme- 
tery and furnished money for a respectable 
burial; then his mind was easier, for although 
the world might call him Quixotic, he felt in 
his heart that his sister’s husband ought to 
have decent interment. 

Candice had noted his action wonderingly. 
What did he mean by such a peculiar freak? 
She liked him the better for it, however. After 
all, she could not feel as angry with him as 
she wished, and was tempted to think more len- 
iently of his numerous shortcomings. He had 
never referred to their conversation on that 
night when he had told her he loved her and 


A wife’s devotion. 


221 


she had acknowledged her regard for him, 
but had ignored it completely. Well, life is 
made up of disappointments and heartaches, 
with sunshine and happiness scattered here 
and -there! 

Mark was a constant study to her. Sometimes 
she was tempted to forgive him and confer her 
identity; then the reaction would come and she 
would turn from him almost angrily. 

Mark was pained at her conduct, and, thinking 
this life a strange enigma and the people in the 
world the greatest puzzle of all, he started out 
in quest of Leta. He went to the address in- 
scribed on the package^ but the landlady of the 
cheap boarding-house informed him carelessly 
that Mrs. Tatro had left there two days before. 

Do you know where she went ? ” Mark 
asked, trying to speak indifferently. 

“No, I don’t,” the landlady answered, sharply. 
Then he turned away, disheartened at meeting 
with disappointment where he had only thought 
of success. But if his sister was in the city he 
would surely find her. He could not, would not 
rest until he had accomplished his purpose. 


222 


A wife’s devotion. 


That evening he was wandering aimlessly 
along, thinking sadly of his mother and Alice. 
Surely this life of his was bad enough, but was 
not theirs, waiting at Valley Farm, even worse? 
He could not tell what induced him to traverse 
the part of the town into which he had wan- 
dered, but on he went until a light across the 
way attracted his attention, and just where it 
shone brightly on the grass-grown walk of a 
brick mansion illuminated as if for some grand 
ball, a woman was standing quietly, as if waiting 
for some one, but no one came ; the woman 
moved restlessly, and then seemed gazing 
straight into that festively lighted house. 

Mark could not tell why he stood like one 
under a spell and followed that w’oman’s every 
motion, for surely the picture on which he was 
gazing was one of every-day occurrence. Now, 
right under the chandelier in that richly ap- 
pointed room, a young girl was standing with 
her head bent, listening ; she, too, was waiting — 
for what? 

A handsome young man entered the room, 


A wife’s devotion. 


223 


went close up to the waiting girl and kissed 
her softly on the brow; then, with one arm 
about her waist, they sauntered back among 
the shadows. At this Mark saw the waiting, 
eager face of the woman outside droop as if 
in despair; then she threw her arms above 
her head and noiselessly fell prone on the 
greensward. 

“ She has fainted,” Mark thought, pityingly, 
and hurrying across the street with long, rapid 
strides he bent over the woman’s prostrate 
form. One glance at the white face upturned 
to him was enough and, with the words, “My 
God ! it is Leta ! ” he gathered the frail young 
figure in his arms ; her long golden hair had 
become unloosed, and was floating over his 
shoulders wildly. But it was Leta, his sister, 
found at last ! Thank Heaven for that ! and he 
kissed her pale lips. 

She lay insensible in his arms. Then a terri- 
ble idea came to him. Suppose she was dead ? 
The thought was agony. At length she stirred ; 
she was alive, thank God ! and with tears in his 
eyes he awaited her return to consciousness. 


224 


A wife’s detotion. 


The blue eyes opened at last, and the 
white lips murmured, “Leon;” then Mark 
spoke to her. 

“Do you feel better, dear Leta?” he said. 
“ Oh ! yes ! ” she answered, sadly ; “ but I am 
weary, so very weary! I believe I have walked 
a hundred miles to-day ! ” 

“ I know, dear,” Mark said, tenderly, fearing 
to startle her, and with his arm encircling her 
waist he led her slowly along the street. 

“ Where are we going, Leon ? ” 

They were threading the crowded thorough- 
fare and Mark did not answer, for Mrs. Lee, on 
the arm of Uncle Sam, was approaching them. 
Leta’s face was almost hidden on her brother’s 
shoulder, and Candice failed to recognize the 
girl. She only knew that Mark, her husband, 
who had shunned her so persistently, was there, 
face to face with her, with a young girl leaning 
on him confidingly, his arm encircling her waist. 

Uncle Sam had not noticed him at all, and 
Candice turned from Mark with such a look of 
scorn in her wine-brown eyes as rarely visited 


A wife’s devotion. 


225 


their limpid depths. But her glasses hid it. 
Mark had only time to notice the haughty 
head raised proudly as she passed by, giving 
him no glance of recognition. 

“ A dead cut ! ” he thought, bitterly, as he 
strove to steady Beta’s steps. 

Mark took his sister to a quiet boarding-house, 
engaged rooms, and never left her through all 
the long hours of the night. He made her take 
nourishment, and she obeyed him like a child, 
but beyond a start of surprise when she saw 
that it was Mark and not Leon who had brought 
her there, she made no sign. 

It was true then, all that she had read in the 
papers. Leon Tatro, her husband, was a thief, 
a midnight robber, and he was dead ! She had 
thought it was false, and that Leon had found 
her on the street, but now she knew it was 
Mark, her brother, who looked at her with kind, 
pitying eyes that burned into her very brain. 

“Let me think,” she said, wearily, when 
Mark addressed her, and he, fearing for her 
overtasked brain, stole quietly out to obtain for 
14 


226 A wife’s devotion. 

her a composing draught at the nearest drug 
store. 

On his return he found her still sitting where 
he had left her, with a drawn look on her face, 
and without a tear to dim the sparkle of her 
eyes that seemed unnaturally large and bright. 

“ Leta, sister, take this for me, dear ! ” Mark 
said, and she swallowed the draught without 
seeming to realize what she was doing; he 
then went in search of assistance and one of 
the landlady’s daughters offered her services. 
Mark, thinking it would be best, explained to 
her as far as he dare his sister’s sad condition, 
and tears stood in his listener’s eyes when he 
had finished. He told her Leta had lost her 
husband very recently, and was nearly crazed 
by grief. He had done all he could for her, and 
what she needed now was rest. If she could 
sleep, it would be better for her, much better. 

So the good-hearted daughter disrobed and 
put Leta in bed, where she soon sank into 
a refreshing sleep. The soothing draught had 
taken effect, and Mark coming in later took 


A wife’s devotion. 4 227 

his seat by the bedside, to watch over her 
through the night. The landlady’s daughter, 
a blooming young girl, who had been much 
impressed by Mark’s gentlemanly address, 
busied herself about the room for a few 
moments, every now and then stealing a fur- 
tive glance at the manly form and handsome 
face of the sufferer’s brother. But Mark 
scarcely noticed her, and with a sigh she told 
him to call her if she was needed. He thanked 
her for her kind ministrations, and she left the 
room. 

Through the long watches of the night Mark 
kept his place by Beta’s bedside ; the weather 
w'as cold and dreary now, and he felt chilled 
and uncomfortable ; still he did not stir for 
fear of startling the sleeping girl. 

When the first gray streaks of morning 
dawned, Mark bent over her uneasily. Was 
she slumbering yet ? No ! the blue eyes were 
wide open, and she gazed lovingly into his 
face. Throwing her arms about his neck, she 
drew the handsome blonde head, so nearly 


228 


A wife’s devotion. 


resembling her own, close down to her and 
kissed it passionately. 

“ Oh ! Mark ! Mark ! ” she moaned, with a 
little, sobbing cry, and then a great storm 
of emotion shook her like a leaf in the gale. 
Mark felt the warm tears coursing down the 
delicate cheek laid so close against his own, 
and knew that she was weeping. 

“ It will do her good,” he thought, as he 
held her in his strong, loving arms. Leta grew 
more composed at last and said, sadly : 

“ You must despise me, Mark ! ” 

“ No ! no ! Leta ! ” he answ'ered, tenderly ; 
“ and the folks at home still love you dearly ! ” 

“ And I have wronged them so cruelly!” she 
said, scarcely above a whisper. 

“ It is all over now, dear,” Mark replied, 
“ and you will go home with me ; mother is 
w'aiting for us.” 

“ I cannot ! Do not ask me ! ” she exclaimed. 
“After a time, perhaps, I may forget; until 
then, brother, I am afraid I will be a sore 
trouble to you.” 


A wife’s devotioit. 


229 


“ I guess I can survive it ! ” Mark an- 
swered, quietly, and then tried to turn her 
attention to other things ; he succeeded better 
than he anticipated. 

Finding her quite calm at last, he left her in 
order to make some further arrangements for 
her comfort, but hurried first directly to his 
hotel, to write a long letter to his mother. 
He wrote tenderly of his erring sister, but 
stated that the time of their return was very 
indefinite. 

“ Do not worry, mother,” he said in conclu- 
sion ; “ I will take care of Leta, and when she 
is over the bitterest part of her grief and morti- 
fication, I will bring her home to you. I know 
you are impatient, mother, and this waiting is 
very hard, but look hopefully forward to what 
the future will surely bring.” 

The letter finished, he posted it, and, thinking 
Leta would be best left alone for a short time, 
sauntered toward his Uncle Sam’s residence. 
The old gentleman met him cordially. Mark 
soon knew that his uncle had not recognized 


230 


A wife’s devotion. 


him the night before, and was g’ad, for it 
would save all einbarras^ng explanations. He 
asked for Mrs. Lee in a careless, every-day 
tone, and his uncle rang the bell, requesting 
her presence. But Candice had noted Mark’s 
approach from her window, which overlooked 
the street, and with the memory of the past 
night’s scene still rankling in her breast, she 
sent down word she was indisposed, and they 
would please excuse her. 

Mark knew it was but a subterfuge to escape 
his presence, but Uncle Sam in his kind old 
heart wondered what in the world ailed her. 
“ She was well enough this morning,” he said, 
musingly; “she must have been suddenly 
attacked.” 

“ I guess she is not dangerously ill,” Mark 
answered, gloomily. “ It strikes me, uncle, she 
will be all right after my departure ! ” 

Uncle Sam looked up quickly, comprehending 
that something had once more come between the 
two whom he would give half his fortune to see 
reconciled. 


A WIFE S DEVOTION. 


231 


“Why fight against fate?” Mark said to 
himself, bitterly, on his way to the house 
where Leta lodged. “ Surely Mrs. Lee can 
never be more to me than she is now!” 

But nevertheless he continued to think of 
Mrs. Lee, and her treatment of him made him 
unutterably miserable. 


232 


AN HONOBABLE NAME. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

AN HONORABLE NAME. 

T he days that followed were vexatious to 
Mark. Part of the time Leta would throw 
off her sorrow and appear almost cheerful ; then 
the old melancholy would reassert itself, and she 
would spend hours brooding over and bewailing 
her wasted life. Mark, finding her one day in 
an easy frame of mind, gave her the packet of 
letters and the ring, and then, with great pity 
for her in his kind blue eyes, told her of the 
death of the man she had called her husband. 

Leta listened silently ; taking the package of 
papers from his hands she looked them over 
carelessly and then handed them back to him. 
What did it all mean? She could not under- 
stand it. Why was so much about the “ Countess 
Lucerne ” written on them all ? 


AK HONORABLE NAME. 


233 


Mark read them carefully, and as he read the 
interest they inspired showed itself on his hand- 
some face. 

“Leta,” he said at last, “although your 
husband died an outlaw’s death, there are 
extenuating circumstances. When very young 
he was led into crime by one much older than 
himself ; he fled to this country for safety, but 
his evil genius followed him here, and he 
plunged deeper and deeper into sin until he 
perpetrated the daring act of burglary that 
ended his career. But, sister,” and Mark 
straightened up his form proudly, “for all 
his misdeeds he has left you an honorable 
name, thank Heaven ! These papers prove 
your right beyond dispute to the title of 
Countess Lucerne. They speak of an estate 
in France. Some time we will investigate it 
thoroughly. Until then, Leta, be satisfied that 
the name you will hereafter bear is an honorable 
one, and unknown to the police record ! ” 

After that Mark always addressed her as 
“Mrs. Lucerne,*^ and she was better satisfied, 


234 


AN HONORABLE NAME. 


as the name did not recall so forcibly the 
cause of her unhappy position. She had loved 
her husband dearly, thinking him noble and 
good, and now that he was dead, she pitied 
him that the life begun so auspiciously should 
have ended in shame. And he had loved her, 
too, for evjn at the last he tried to guard her 
from the consequences of his reckless acts. 
What might he not have made of that life 
if he had tried ! But instead he had gone 
recklessly on, inviting his own destruction. 

Finding Leta had determined not to return 
to Valley Farm, after urging her repeatedly, 
Mark gave up the task as hopeless, and waited 
patiently for the time when she would consent 
to go of her own free will. 

“ I cannot bear to meet them yet,” she said, 
pleadingly, in answer to all Mark’s anxious 
questionings, and he was forced to be content. 

Alice and Mrs. Maynard wrote tender, entreat- 
ing letters for the absent ones to return, but Leta 
shrank from the home-returning, the glances of 
wondering eyes, and the scornful remarks of her 


AN HONORABLE NAME. 


235 


acquaintances as from a pestilence, and Mark, 
knowing by experience that heart-wounds, 
though hard to bear at first, grow gradually 
less painful as time elapses, bore with her 
patiently. 

One evening the brother and sister were sit- 
ting together, talking quietly. Again winter 
winds whistled and moaned around the house 
corners. They had found this boarding-house 
very comfortable indeed, and still stayed on, 
never thinking of changing. The gas was 
lighted, and Mark was gazing lazily at the 
glowing embers in the grate, with his face 
turned toward the window. 

Leta was directly opposite him, toying ab- 
sently with the leaves of a new magazine Mark 
had just brought home to her, hoping to wean 
her from thoughts of other things. She was 
rapidly learning to be content, if not happy; 
and Mark hoped he would soon be able to take 
her home to Valley Farm, there to complete the 
lesson of forgetfulness, if that were possible. 

“ Mark,” Leta said, in a hesitating tone, as if 


236 


AN HONORABLE NAME. 


she dreaded giving pain, for she had home feo 
much lately herself that she was beginning to 
be very tender of others’ feelings, “ Mark, have 
you ever heard from Candice ? ” 

“ No, Leta, never ! ” Mark answered, his voice 
unsteady with emotion. “ Whether she is living 
or dead I know not ! ” 

“ Forgive me, brother, I did not mean to pain 
you,” Leta continued, “ but you will find her 
some day I am sure.” 

“ If I could only think so ! ” Mark answered, 
sadly. “ I am afraid my sweet girl-wife will 
never know how bitterly I regret the past! 
Leta, these lines are always ringing in my ears 
and haunting me; 

If I could live my life again, 

And know what I do now, 

Full many a word would be unsaid — 

And never a broken vow I * 

“ But we cannot live our lives again, sister. I 
suppose the wrong I did, half in thoughtlessness, 
will be always written against me, for I cannot 
wipe it out. I have repented bitterly long ago. 


AN HONORABLE NAME. 


237 


but that can do no good ! ” Mark’s voice died 
away in silence ; Leta rose from her chair and 
stood behind him, smoothing his curly blonde 
hair. 

Was it fate that, just at that moment, Candice 
and Mrs. Chamberlain, returning from a char- 
itable visit and attracted by the appearance of 
the group within, should stand an instant in the 
street to gaze . into that cosy little room ? It 
was only for a second; then Candice clutched 
her companion’s arm nervously and hurried her 
on, for the sight that had greeted the poor wife’s 
eyes had caused the warm life blood to almost 
congeal about her heart, and she felt as if she 
must faint if she remained longer. 

Surely there was nothing in that quiet home 
scene to occasion so much distress in her friend, 
Mrs. Chamberlain thought. 

A handsome young man, in dressing-gown and 
slippers, sitting before the fire, seemingly content 
with his surroundings, and by his side, with one 
hand toying with his short curly locks, a young 
girl standing. Her face was in the shadow, and 


238 


AN HONORABLE NAME. 


all they could see was a delicate profile and 
masses of golden hair coiled high on the head. 
A quiet home scene, nothing more, and Mrs. 
Chamberlain gazed on it with a smile wreath- 
ing her lips. “ A trifle spoony ! ” she said, with 
a light laugh, as Candice hurried her along. 
“ Not yet over the honeymoon by all appear- 
ances ! ” Her companion uttered not a word. 

Mrs. Chamberlain wondered why Mrs. Lee had 
so little to say the rest of the way home. She 
did not know it was an effort for her companion 
to utter the merest trifle. 

At last home was reached, good-night said, and 
Candice was left alone, to brood over the scene 
she had just witnessed. Uncle Sam had retired, 
and she hurried to her own chamber and locked 
herself in. 

She heard Baby Mark in the room across the 
hall talking to Katie gayly; she did not go to 
him, but only put her hand to her head as if 
the shrill treble voice worried her. She did not 
weep, but sat there and thought what did it 
all mean? How could Mark marry again, not 


AN HONORABLE NAME. 


239 


knowing whether his girl-wife was living or 
dead? If it was not his wife, who then was 
that golden-haired girl she had seen him with 
now for the second time ? When morning 
dawned she had not closed her eyes in sleep, 
and looked haggard and wan. 

Uncle Sam asked her kindly if she was ill, and 
she answered, “ I have a headache, that is all.” 
He thought to himself if she had said heart-ache 
she would have come nearer the truth. 


240 “TOO OLD TO LOVE, TOO YOUNG TO MABRY ! 


CHAPTER XXVL 

“too old to love, too young to marry!” 

M rs. chamberlain was a constant visi- 
tor at the brown-stone mansion, but 
whether Uncle Sam or Mrs. Lee was the 
attraction was difiicult to discover. 

“ Being such near neighbors, ihy dear,” the 
lady said, gushingly, to Candice one day, “ we 
ought to be very friendly;” and as if only 
friendliness for her neighbors prompted her 
actions, she commenced trying to enliven them. 
Euchre parties were very fashionable just then, 
and Mrs. Chamberlain persuaded Uncle Sam 
and Mrs. Lee to attend several. Candice 
shrank from it, but Uncle Sam loved a quiet 
game and attended willingly. At last the gath- 
erings at Mrs. Chamberlain’s house, which at 
first had consisted of several persons, dwindled 


“too old to loye, too young to marry!” 241 

down to Mrs. Chamberlain’s half-grown daughter, 
herself, Uncle Sam and Candice. 

At first Candice went, thinking to please her 
uncle, but after awhile she commenced making 
excuses and staid at home, and Uncle Sam 
rather unwillingly went without her. 

Mrs. Chamberlain was a good-looking woman, 
just in the prime of life, well preserved, but 
rather too portly to be graceful. She had been 
a widow over three years, and was not at all 
averse to marrying again. Samuel Desbro was 
somewhat older than she desired, but rich and 
influential. Why should she not win him ? So 
by every art in her power she tried to enslave 
this man “wi’ the lint white locks.” 

Uncle Sam was certainly very obtuse, for he 
would not even meet the widow’s advances half 
way, and she almost cried with vexation to see 
her most telling speeches utterly ignored or 
answered so indifferently that she was sure he 
did not understand them. 

Poor Uncle Sam ! he had no more idea at first 
of Mrs. Chamberlain’s designs than he had of 
15 


242 “too old to love, too young to makrt!” 

Candice running off with the coachman, but 
when, at last, her conduct grew so plainly 
apparent his old eyes twinkled merrily. 

She invited them over to tea one evening, 
but little Mark was not feeling very well, and 
therefore, as quickly as politeness would permit, 
Candice hurried home to her boy, and Uncle 
Sam and the bewitching widow were left alone. 
Now was her time, Mrs. Chamberlain thought, 
complacently. 

“ I wanted to have a little quiet talk with 
you, Mr. Desbro,” she said, trying to look like 
a bashful schoolgirl. “ I have no one to advise 
me or look out for my interests since dear John 
died. It’s a terrible thing to be a widow, Mr. 
Desbro, don’t you think so ? ” 

“ I never was a widow, Mrs. Chamberlain, so I 
cannot tell from my own experience, but if you 
say so, then of course it must be so,” Uncle Sam 
answered, quietly, but with a note of mockery in 
his voice. 

“ Of course you cannot be expected to know 
how a widow feels, Mr. Desbro,” she said, resign- 


“too old to love, too young to marry!” 243 

edly, “ but somehow women always expect to be 
protected by men ; they want advice and — ” 

“ Haven’t you a solicitor ? ” Uncle Sam inter- 
rupted, gravely ; “ they are always willing to 
advise you, provided their fees are assured ! ” 

“ Oh ! yes, I have a solicitor, but we women 
want sympathy, something else besides advice. 
Mr. Desbro, you were never married or you 
would understand what I mean. Conjugal hap- 
piness is such a sacred thing ! ” 

“Yes, I’ve heard so,” Uncle Sam said, dubi- 
ously; “but as to marrying, why I consider 
myself too old to love, too young to marry! 
So, you see, Mrs. Chamberlain, my prospects 
for conjugal happiness are, to say the least of 
it, rather thin ! ” 

Mrs. Chamberlain turned away in disgust, and 
Uncle Sam, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, 
watched her with an expressive shrug of the 
shoulders. 

“A fine woman,” he decided, mentally, “but 
a leetle too much on the marrying order to 
suit me!” 


244 “too old to love, too young to marry!” 

Mrs. Chamberlain was not yet discouraged. 
Might he not mean that he was older than 
herself ? With a little laugh meant to make 
her appear wholly unconcerned, she resumed 
the conversation : 

“ You ‘ too old to love, too young to marry,’ 
Mr. Desbro 1 Pray, how many men as old as 
you are commit the folly of marrying nowadays! 
Love,” she continued, a trifle scornfully, “ is not 
supposed to form a part of the contract between 
people past the prime of life, but sometimes a 
great deal of happiness is derived from such 
unions. Age, it is to be hoped, gives us a little 
quieter view of life, and the couple, that if 
united when young would quarrel continually, 
might if married later in life boast of perfect 
happiness ! ” 

“ True enough, Mrs. Chamberlain,” Uncle Sam 
said, quietly, “for those that wish to marry; but, 
years ago, I loved. It seems strange now, does 
it not, to hear an old white-haired man talk of 
loving ? But such was the case. I loved a fair 
young girl and lost her. There is a grave in 


“too old to love, too young to marry!” 245 

my heart and over it a tombstone, the inscription 
upon which is always fresh in my remembrance : 
‘ Sacred to the memory of my first love ! ’ So 
you see why I do not care to marry I ” 

Mrs. Chamberlain made no reply, but that 
moment she gave up all hopes of ever be- 
coming Mrs. Desbro. 

“ Such folly ! ” she said, with a forced laugh, 
as she watched him take his departure. “ He is 
as sentimental as a young man of twenty-one 1 
A grave in his heart, indeed ! ” 

Mrs. Chamberlain tried to appear unconcerned 
about the matter. She always had a conscious- 
ness that Samuel Desbro had understood her pur- 
pose perfectly well, and had taken that method 
to check all further attempts on her part to win 
him in the future. Despite his unfailing cour- 
tesy whenever they met, she felt uncomfortable 
in his presence and visited the brown-stone house 
rarely, until at last her visits ceased altogether. 

Candice wondered over the change, but said 
nothing; on the whole she was glad of it, for the 
gushing widow’s presence had bored her dread- 


246 “too old to love, too young to marry!” 

fully when her heart was sore and oppressed by 
her own sorrows. 

Uncle Sam visited the hotel Mark had first 
made his stopping-place, but was told that Mr. 
Maynard had not been there for several weeks. 
“ He has gone home,” Uncle Sam decided, men- 
tally, and thinking it might interest Candice, he 
remarked to her that evening : 

“ Candice, I visited the Denison this afternoon, 
and Mark has not been there for several weeks. 
He has probably gone back to Valley Farm.” 

Ah ! full well Candice knew that he had not, 
but hated to tell the kind old man how bitterly 
Mark had deceived them all. She dreaded his 
just anger at this last evidence of Mark’s unwor- 
thiness, and even now, in her wifely devotion, 
kept silent. 

Uncle Sam looked at her wonderingly, be- 
cause she did not evince greater interest in 
her husband’s whereabouts, and then said, half 
reproachfully : 

“Candice, how much longer is this game of 
cross-purposes to continue ? ” 


“too old to love, too young to marry!” 247 

“ What do you mean, uncle ? ” The question 
was only a subterfuge to gain time. 

“ I mean,” the old man answered, sadly, 
“ that even your w'oman’s heart should be sat- 
isfied with Mark’s conduct by this time; his 
whole life seems shattered by your loss. Rest- 
less and dissatisfied, he is constantly roaming 
from place to place, seeking happiness but 
never finding it. Can you not forgive him, 
my child ? ” 

“ Uncle, are you tired of me ? ” Candice 
asked, bitterly. 

“ Why, bless you 1 no, my dear child ! The 
old man could ill afford to lose his little 
‘ Sister of Charity 1 ’ but you cannot always 
live with me. I am getting old; if I should 
die, would it not be far better for you to 
have a husband’s protecting care ? Besides, 
my child, you must think of Baby Mark. It 
is a duty you owe your son ! ” 

“ Uncle Sam 1 ” and Candice’s tones were 
oppressed with a weight of sadness. “ Kind- 
est and best of uncles, I am afraid I must 
inflict my presence on 3011 a little longer; 


248 “TOO OLD TO LOVE, TOO YOUKO TO MARRY ! ” 

for, dearly as I love my husband, much as 
I care for baby’s future, I would wash for a 
living, starve on a crust in a garret, rather 
than acknowledge the pseudo Mrs. Lee to be 
Mark Maynard’s wife ! ” 

“ Don’t get excited, my dear ! ” Uncle Sam 
said, soothingly ; “ but if, as you say, you love 
your husband, why do you shut him out from 
that love ? ” 

How she longed to cry out and tell the story 
of Mark’s unworthiness ! But that would never 
do, for Uncle Sam would then seek him and her 
identity would be made known. No ! no ! that 
would never do ! Besides, she must shield him, 
even though her heart were broken in the effort ! 

“ Think over it, my child,” Uncle Sam said, 
earnestly, “ and forgive him if you can ! ” 

“ I cannot ! oh ! I cannot ! ” she answered, 
wildly. “ Oh ! Uncle Sam ! always kind and 
good, do not ask me, for I cannot!” 

He did not press the subject further, but 
wondered what was the matter that these two, 
loving each so well, should be separated by what 
seemed to him a woman’s foolish whim. 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVEBY. 


249 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

/ 

KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

M ark was becoming impatient of this 
mode of life, and wanted a change. 
Leta was rapidly regaining her usual spirits, 
and began to think with something very 
nearly approaching pleasure of their return to 
Valley Farm. 

Mark, in the long winter evenings that had 
passed, had planned numerous improvements 
for the old homestead, and was anxious to 
be putting his projects into execution. “It 
will kill time,” he thought, moodily; but he 
was very solicitous for Leta’s welfare, and 
knowing how she longed for and yet dreaded 
this home-going, he left it all for her to deter- 
mine. Unfortunately, she could not quite make 
up her mind, but put it off from day to day 


250 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERY. 


until spring was ushered in, with rough winds 
and fitful changes of weather. 

‘‘We must go some time, I suppose, Mark,” 
Leta said, sadly, one evening ; “ hut oh ! how I 
dread the torture to which I shall be subjected 
when our acquaintances discover the reason of 
my absence from home ! ” 

“Why is it necessary to tell the reason?” 
Mark said, quietly. “ You went away as Leta 
Maynard, go back the same. Mother has stated 
you are absent on a visit. Your returning home 
with me will disarm suspicion.” 

“ And live a lie the rest of my life ! ” Leta 
said, bitterly. “ Oh ! Mark, I cannot do that ! ” 

“ It will only be for a little while, Leta ; then 
we will go abroad, you and I, and investigate 
that matter mentioned in the papers in your 
possession. We can be gone two or three years, 
and if what those documents state be true, you 
can don your widow’s weeds with your title and 
return with mfe to Valley Farm. Then who will ' 
dare to point the finger of scorn at you ! It will 
be thought that you were married and widowed 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERT. 


251 


while abroad. You must not let that one mis- 
take cloud your life forever. Sister, will you 
do as I say?” 

“ How can I do otherwise, Mark, when you 
have devised this plan to make my life what 
it might have been but for my own folly? I 
will go home when you are ready!” 

“ Spoken like a sensible girl 1 ” Mark said. 
“ Now, you must go shopping,” he continued, 
as he placed a roll of bills in her lap. Leta 
said, sorrowfully : 

“ How can I, Mark ? ” 

You must, Leta ; that is part of the pro- 
gramme. If you return home sad and dark- 
robed like this, people will look at you askance. 
You must go bravely, like a soldier to the battle- 
field, and, sister, don all the war-paint, for good 
clothes, you know, take a great part in the 
estimate people make of you.” 

Leta, knowing in her heart all that Mark said 
was true, complied with his request, and came 
back laden with purchases ; they were for her- 
self, she told her brother, but in her mind they 
all had been given to Alice in advance. 


252 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERT. 


Then Mark seemed to grow very worldly in 
his tastes, and urged Leta to accompany him to 
various places of amusement, which she did. 
Mark dreaded, yet longed to meet Mrs. Lee 
again; he knew it would be much better for 
him to go away without seeing her, but felt 
that to meet her and hear her voice once 
more were pleasures he could not forego. In 
the theatres and crowded assemblies he searched 
for her in vain ; there was no other way but to 
call at Uncle Sam’s again ; possibly she might be 
“ at home ” to him, but it was hardly probable 
after the coolness with which she had treated 
him when last there. 

Determined to make another effort and doubt- 
ful as to what his reception would be, Mark found 
himself ushered into Mrs. Lee’s presence, for she 
had not had time to evade him, as he was sure 
she would have done if she could have escaped 
unobserved. She turned at his approach, 
coldly polite, as to the veriest stranger, and 
said, pointedly : 

“ Mr. Desbro is in the library. Shall I teU 
him you are here?” 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERY. 


253 


She wished to escape from him, Mark thought, 
but his words were as courteously uttered when 
he answered as if the bitterest pain was not 
filling his heart at that moment. 

“ Can you not spare a few minutes to me ? ” 
he asked, pleadingly. “ I will not task your 
patience long, for I return home to Valley 
Farm in a few days, and, as quickly as I 
can make arrangements, I shall go abroad 
again.” 

“Indeed!”, Candice said, trying to speak 
calmly, and succeeding so well that her voice 
sounded harsh and indifferent. “ Your resolution 
is quite recent, is it not ? ” 

“Quite,” Mark answered, sadly. “I dare say, 
however, few will regret my departure ! ” 

What a consummate rascal he was to be sure, 
Candice thought, bitterly, and he w'as acting dis- 
honorably to the very last ! She thought of the 
golden-haired girl she had twice seen with him, 
and wondered if he had tired of her already. 
The suspicion added a shade more of scorn 
to her voice as she answered : 


254 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERT. 


“ As people sow, so shall they reap, I believe, 
Mr. Maynard. Has your life been one that 
would cause people to regret your departure ? ” 

“ I see you have misjudged me,” Mark 
answered, gloomily. 

Candice wondered for just one second if it 
were possible she had misjudged him in the 
minutest degree. 

Uncle Sam, hearing voices and recognizing 
Mark’s deep, full tones, hurried into the room 
and grasped the hand extended to him warmly. 
What Mrs. Lee’s welcome had lacked in cordial- 
ity Uncle Sam’s made up for. He noted with 
deep regret the cloud on Mark’s handsome face 
as Mrs. Lee slipped noiselessly from the room, 
but, fearing to wound by impertinent questions, 
listened quietly while Mark explained his plans 
for the future. 

“ Uncle,” the nephew said, noting the old 
man’s kindly gaze, “ I believe you have liked 
and trusted me even when I most deserved 
your censure, but, ever since I lost my wife 
by my own foolishness, I have done nothing I 
need blush for ! Do you believe me ? ” 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVEBT. 


255 


“ I do,” Uncle Sam answered, earnestly, 
“and I cannot see why some folks take such 
unaccountable prejudices ! ” 

Mark knew he referred to Mrs. Lee, and 
was glad his uncle did not share her dislike 
of him. 

“ I’m getting to be an old man, Mark,” Uncle 
Sam said, regretfully; “you must not stay too 
long abroad, for I will need your help very soon 
perhaps.” 

Mark dreaded this parting. It seemed to him 
as if those he loved most were always lost to 
him, and he knew he could not trust himself in 
Mrs. Lee’s presence again. 

A cordial hand-shake, a promise of speedy 
news from the wanderer to be, and Mark was 
once more on his way homeward to Leta. 

Meantime, Candice hurried to her own room 
and shut the door. She did not notice Katie 
sitting just inside the great bay-window, where 
the heavy curtains of rich, dark material fell 
about her, almost screening her from view. 
Baby Mark was sleeping sweetly in her arms, 
and, fearing to disturb him, she sat there 


256 KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERT. 

quietly, content to feel his curly head rest- 
ing so confidingly against her brawny arm. 
She was almost asleep herself when Candice 
came 'into the room, and was suddenly re- 
called to consciousness by the sound of sup- 
pressed weeping. Katie rose hastily from her 
chair and, depositing Mark on the bed, was in 
the act of leaving the room when Candice called 
her back. 

“ Don’t go, Katie ; I wish to speak with you.” 

“Yes, mum,” Katie said, wonderingly, and 
then added, eagerly : “ Can I do aught for 

you. Miss Candice?” 

“No, Katie, but you have been my friend 
through many difficulties, and I am sure you 
will sympathize with me in this great trouble 
that has now come to me.” She then told 
Katie all about her suspicions regarding her 
husband, and how she had seen that fair girl 
and Mark together. “And yet,” she added, 
“he seems so true, Katie, I would fain forget 
it, if I could ! ” 

“Don’t worrie so. Miss Candice,” Katie said, 
earnestly, stroking the tumbled curls of the 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERT. 


257 


young girl-wife. “ You’ll get along well enough 
without him, my lassie ! I wouldn’t spoil my 
eyes by crying for the likes of him ! ” 

“ He is my husband, Katie ! ” 

“ I know it, Miss Candice ! ” and she added, 
mentally : “ Bad ’cess to the decateful cray- 

thur ! ” Then, seeming to take a sudden 
interest in the subject, she asked, hurriedly: 
“ Is he down-stairs yet. Miss Candice ? ” 
“Yes,” Candice answered; “he is with 
uncle;” and then she wondered why Katie 
left her and hurried from the room. 

Mark was just making his adieux when a 
woman closely veiled stood waiting in the back 
hallway leading from the servants’ quarters to 
the little side street. 

“ Where are yoU going, Katie ? ” the brisk 
chambermaid asked, wonderingly. 

“ None of your business. Miss Curiosity ! ” 
Katie said, sharply. The girl ran lightly up- 
stairs, laughing at Katie’s quick retort. As 
soon as the front door closed, Katie went out 
at the side entrance and came demurely around 
16 


268 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVEET. 


in front of the house just in time to see Mark 
turn a corner a square distant. Then Katie 
hastened after him, never losing sight of him. 
Mark was wrapped in thought, for Mrs. Lee’s 
conduct puzzled him, while it w'ounded his pride 
to be treated so scornfully. He walked away 
from the more pretentious dwellings to those of 
smaller size. 

Katie was close behind him now; she saw him 
open the gate belonging to one of these dwell- 
ings and hurry up the graveled walk. A lady 
was sitting by the window. Katie trudged 
slowly by and gazed at her eagerly. Would 
she never turn her head? Yes! She had 
heard Mark’s footsteps on the graveled walk 
and turned her head quickly, with a glad little 
gesture of welcome. Katie, with an exclamation 
of astonishment, stopped before the gate and 
gazed with all her heart in her eyes at the 
fair vision at the window. 

“ Do you wish anything, my good woman ? ” 
Mark asked, looking back at the silent figure at 
the gate. But Katie, with one backward glance, 
passed on, without giving him an answer. 


KATIE MAKES A DISCOVERT. 


259 


She was in a perfect ecstasy of delight all the 
way home. 

“ Bless my soul ! ” she said, mentally, ‘‘ all 
that worriting about the man’s own sister ! 
Shure ’tis meself thought Miss Candice was 
mistaken ! The poor darlint ! to cry her eyes 
red over that ! ” and Katie laughed softly, 
although for some reason best known to 
herself her eyes were full of tears. 

That evening, Katie astonished Candice by her 
unusual bursts of Irish wit, and she wondered 
why the girl looked at her so tenderly. 

‘‘ What is the matter, Katie ? ” Candice a.sked 
at length, unable to account for the girl’s actions. 

“ Miss Candice,” Katie said, laughingly, “shure 
’tis not right to cross the mountain till you get 
to it, and I fale light-hearted, that’s all ! ” 

Candice never dreamed of the hidden mean- 
ing underlying the girl’s quaint remark. Katie 
feigned an errand in her room before retiring, 
and, waiting until she had disrobed, the kind- 
hearted girl tucked her in bed; then, bending 
over her, she left a kiss, and Candice fancied a 
tear also, upon her mistress’ fair young face. 


260 


AT THE OPERA. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AT THE OPERA. 

ri^^HE next day was much the same to Candice 
JL as the preceding ones had been, only there 
seemed a shade more of melancholy in the very 
atmosphere. Uncle Sam noticed her listless 
looks, and strove to divert her thoughts from 
herself as much as possible. 

“ Candice, would you like to hear the opera 
to-night? I will engage seats if you care to 
go,” Uncle Sam said to her as he was rising 
from the dinner table. 

“Would you like to go, uncle?” 

“ Certainly, my dear, but I don’t care about 
going alone.” 

“ Then I will go with you, uncle, so you can 
consider yourself my escort,” trying to speak 
laughingly. “ I hope you will not get tired 


AT THE OPERA. 


261 


of the task, for I know I’m a terrible nuisance 
sometimes ! ” 

“ I’ll try and stand it,” Uncle Sam answered, 
in a. resigned tone, and with such a comical look 
of martyrdom on his face that Candice laughed 
a silvery peal of merriment. 

The old gentleman, well pleased at his kindly 
efforts being appreciated, hastened from the 
house intent on purchasing seats for the even- 
ing’s entertainment ; he was hurrying along the 
street, looking neither to the right nor left, 
when a familiar voice called out his name. He 
turned quickly, and found himself face to face 
with Mark, who was laden with bundles of every 
size and description. 

“ Sorry I can’t shake hands, uncle ! ” he said, 
laughing, “ but you see how it is,” with a look 
at his loaded arms. 

“Well, great Scott! Mark, what are you 
going to do with all that rubbish ? You look 
like a henpecked husband, trying to please 
your fickle lady’s fancy by a variety of 
purchases ! ” 


262 


kt THE OPERA. 


Presents for mother and the girls,” Mark 
said, cheerfully. “ I am going home to-morrow. 
I had intended going to-day, but business de- 
tained me.” 

“ Will you attend the opera to-night, Mark ? 
I am just going after tickets for Can — Mrs. Lee 
and myself ! ” Uncle Sam said. “ Thunder and 
lightning ! ” he added to himself, “ I wonder if 
he noticed that slip?” But Mark paid no 
attention. He was thinking of the reception 
Mrs. Lee had given him the day before, and 
his lips twitched painfully at the unpleasant 
remembrance. 

“ Uncle,” Mark said, with an effort, “ what is 
the reason Mrs. Lee despises me so thoroughly?” 

“ Does she despise you, my boy ? I thought 
differently.” 

Uncle Sam was honestly glad Mark had not 
noticed what he had said accidentally. 

“ Her dislike is plainly apparent,” Mark 
answered, “ but after all I don’t know why I 
should care so very much, only one hates to be 
forever misunderstood.” 


AT THE OPERA. 


263 


She’ll get over it, Mark ; all woinen do ! ” 
Uncle Sara answered, knowingly. “ I’ve found 
out they need a good deal of coaxing, and I 
suppose she is no exception to the general rule.” 

“I was fool enough to think her different from 
others,” Mark said, bitterly. 

“ Confound it ! ” Uncle Sara thought, ruefully. 
“Why can’t I tell the boy? I’d give a hundred 
dollars this minute if I felt free to do it, but I 
suppose I must leave it for him to find out for 
himself, if he ever does, which is very doubtful, 
the way Candice gives him the cold shoulder.” 

Mark changed the subject skilfully. After all, 
what was the use of talking over his troubles ? 
It made them none the lighter to bear. 

“ How is that wonderful baby getting along 
up at your house, uncle ? ” Mark asked. “ I 
haven’t seen the little fellow for some time.” 

“ Smart as a cricket, and looks more like 
his father every day of his life ! ” 

“You knew his father then?” Mark asked, 
curiously. “I thought Mrs. Lee was a widow 
when she first came to you?” 


264 


AT THE OPERA. 


“ So she was, Mark, so she was ; but I’ve often 
seen her husband ; he was a pretty good fellow — 
a trifle cranky now and then, that was all ! ” and 
there was a mischievous gleam in the old gentle- 
man’s eyes as he gazed at the stalwart young 
man beside him. 

Why wouldn’t he understand ! Mark, walking 
beside him with a look of interest on his flne 
face, had no more idea his uncle meant him than 
he had of asking the next woman he met on the 
street to marry him, and so they separated. 

“ Would you like to go to the opera to-night, 
Leta ? ” Mark asked the question while he was 
depositing his parcels on the table, preparatory 
to packing them in the trunk standing open 
ready to receive them. 

“ I don’t know that I care very much about 
it,” Leta replied, in an undecided tone of voice. 
“ If we go, when shall I finish packing ? ” 

“ I will help you, Leta. Yes, we will go.” 

Mark could not have told why he preferred 
the opera to home that night ; but with all pos; 
sible haste they finished their packing just as the 
supper bell rang. 


AT THE OPERA. 


265 


“You must hurry, Leta,” Mark said, when 
they rose from the table. “I give you just 
half an hour to make yourself pretty in, and 
I bet the whole sum of five cents you are 
not ready by that time ! ” 

“ ril take the bet,” Leta said, merrily, “ and 
you’ll see if I don’t prove an exception to the 
general rule of womankind and be ready before 
my very precise brother ! ” 

“ Agreed.” 

Mark went hurriedly up to his room, threw his 
clothes on with what he thought was commenda- 
ble haste and hurried down-stairs, but his sister 
was waiting for him in the hallway, daintily 
attired, with even her gloves and bonnet on, 
and looking provokingly cool. 

“ Here’s your nickel ! ” Mark said, gravely 
extending her the coin ; “ take it as a memento 
of your great triumph over the rest of your sex, 
for who ever heard of a woman dressing in less 
than half an hour before ! ” 

In a merry mood they started off, arm in arm. 
They were a trifle late, and the orchestra seats 
were all taken. 


266 


AT THE OPERA. 


“ Give me two in the balcony, then.” 

Mark was determined he would not return 
home without hearing the opera after all the 
trouble of getting there, so taking Leta’s arm 
he hurried her up-stairs. They had secured 
front seats, which afforded them a good view 
of the stage and the entire audience. The 
prima donna commenced singing just as they 
entered the balcony. 

Leta was toying idly with her opera glass, 
when a face attracted her attention, which 
she gazed at long and steadfastly. Presently 
she gave Mark a little nudge and whispered 
in his ear: 

“ Who is that lady with Uncle Sam ? Is it 
the adventuress mother talks about?” 

“ It is Mrs. Lee,” Mark said, quietly, scanning 
the vast audience beneath in search of the fairest 
face in the world to him. Yes, there they were 
at last, and taking the glass from Leta’s hand he 
looked long and earnestly at the lovely face of 
the woman he loved. 

“I wonder what she looks like without her 


kr THE OPERA. 


267 


glasses ! ” he thought, noting the slender figure 
in a robe of black velvet, with great bunches of 
Parma pansies at throat and waist as her only 
ornament. She wore a white hat with a droop- 
ing plume, and beneath the brim pansies, nothing 
but pansies, suiting well the lovely, girlish face. 
But he did not note the pitiful droop of the red 
lips and the cheeks losing their freshest bloom, 
as if from sleepless nights or haunting day- 
dreams ! 

Leta took the glass when he offered it to 
her, and wondered why his hand trembled as 
it touched hers. Little did Candice dream 
Mark’s eyes were on her constantly that en- 
tire evening, noting her every look, her every 
gesture, as she conversed with the white-haired 
old man by her side. 

The last act was over, and great crowds of 
people were pushing their way down the flight 
of stairs. 

“ Don’t hurry, Leta ! ” Mark said, laying his 
hand on her arm. “Wait until the crowd 
thins a trifle.” 


268 AT THE OPERA. 

It happened that Mark, with Leta clinging 
to his arm, coming down the last step, met 
Uncle Sam and Mrs. Lee face to face. 

Fearing explanations, he hurried Leta on- 
ward, but not before Candice had gazed full 
in her face and learned the truth. Ah! how 
miserably weak and blind she had been! The 
golden-haired girl was Leta Maynard ! With 
her brain in a whirl, with a thousand con- 
flicting emotions, Candice walked homeward 
by the side of Uncle Sam, scarcely heeding 
his criticisms on the music to which they had 
just been listening. What did she care for the 
opera now? Mark, her husband, was true to 
her in thought and deed! She had spurned 
him from her only yesterday, and he was proud 
and would not come to her again ! 

But what was Leta doing in the city, and why 
all this secresy? Uncle Sam did not know of it 
she was sure, or he would have mentioned it to 
her. It was strange, but through it all she was 
happy, very happy over the discovery she had 
made. 


“l WAKT you! come TO ME ! 


269 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“I WANT you! come TO ME ! ” 

“ ATIE ! Oh ! Katie ! wake up ! I have 

JL\- news, such wonderful news to tell 
you ! ” Candice called in the Irish girl’s ear ; 
Katie was dozing in an easy-chair by Baby 
Mark’s bedside. But she did not stir. Can- 
dice took her by the shoulders and shook her 
gently. 

Katie woke at last, and rubbed her eyes 
with amazement to see the radiant face bend- 
ing over her ; how much more was she aston- 
ished when Candice snatched her glasses from 
her eyes and threw them with a merry laugh 
into the far corner of the room, where they lay 
until the next day’s sweeping brought them to 
light again. 

Was her mistress going crazy? Katie wondered 


270 “I WANT you! come to me!” 

uneasily, sleep vanishing from her eyes as if 
by magic. Candice was laughing at her as if 
divining her very thoughts. 

“ I’m not crazy, Katie, only happy ; happier 
than I ever thought to be again ! ” 

“ In spite of the yaller-haired gurrel, Miss 
Candice ? ” 

“Yes, in spite of ‘the yaller-haired girl,’ 
Katie ! ” Candice replied, joyously, “ for she 
is Mark’s own sister ! ” 

“ I knowed it. Miss Candice, and said it was 
not best to cross the mountain till you cum 
to it ! ” 

“ And you never told me, Katie ! ” Candice 
said, reproachfully. 

“ I didn’t find time yet. Miss Candice. Shure 
I only followed him yisterday, and the likes of 
me couldn’t think of an aisy way to break it to 
you softly like. Thinks I to meself to-morrow 
will do ; and now you’ve found out without poor 
Katie’s help ! ” 

“ You followed him, Katie ? ” Candice cried, as 
the servant paused for want of breath. 


“I WANT you! come TO ME ! ” 271 

“ I done just that, Miss Candice ; I tamed 
detective for shure and followed him home 
and saw his yaller-haired gurrel at the win- 
dow which wasn’t his wife nor swateheart, but 
his own sister, who dominicked over you at 
Valley Farm so unmarcifully ! ” 

“ Domineered, you mean, Katie ! ” Candice 
corrected, and then a peal of laughter loud 
and long rang out over Katie’s “ taming de- 
tective,” startling little Mark from his slum- 
bers, who threw the covers aside restlessly ; 
then, sleep overpowering him once more, he 
closed his eyes and slumbered as soundly as 
ever. Candice arose and replaced the cover- 
ing, then went over by the window and stood 
there looking out. Midnight hung over the 
city, but she could not sleep for very joy- 
ousness, and, turning to Katie, who was yawn- 
ing terribly in spite of her efforts to appear 
wide awake, said, pleasantly : “ Go to bed 

now, Katie, but come to me early in the 
, morning, for I have an errand for you to do 
for me.” 


272 “l WANT Tou! COME TO Me!” 

Katie obeyed, and, in less time than it takes 
to write it, was slumbering soundly, but Candice 
never closed her eyes the entire night j she could 
not sleep, and when morning dawned and Katie 
rapped at the door, her eyes grew round with 
astonishment at beholding Candice still in her 
opera dress of velvet, and with the Parma pansies 
drooping on her bosom. 

‘‘ Oh ! Miss Candice, how could you ? ” Katie 
said, reproachfully. “Why didn’t you go to 
bed?” 

“ I could not sleep, Katie, and I am not tired 
in the least.” 

By her appearance Candice spoke the truth, 
for the listless look had entirely vanished from 
her face, never to return. 

“What can I be afther doing for you. Miss 
Candice ? ” Katie asked, quickly. “ You told 
me to come to you early in the morning.” 

“ Take this to my husband’s boarding-house, 
Katie,” handing her a letter directed, “ Mark 
Maynard, City.” “ Be sure you give it to 
Mr. Maynard himself, and wait for an answer.” 


“I wwr you! come to me!” 273 

‘‘ He’ll know me, shure, Miss Candice ! ” 

“It makes no difference, Katie; tell him Uncle 
Sam employed you, tell him anything, only do 
not tell him Mrs. Lee and Candice are the 
same ! ” 

So Katie went away quickly and had gone 
nearly a square, when she came back hurriedly 
and wanted to know what she should do with the 
“ errant,” indicating the letter, if Mark Maynard 
was not at home. 

“ Bring it back to me, Katie ; but hurry, for I 
cannot rest until I undo the wrong I have done 
him in my thoughts I ” 

Katie hurried so rapidly that her young mis- 
tress had just finished dressing when she came 
into the room, with a very red face and panting 
loudly, the letter still held tightly between her 
thumb and forefinger. 

“ He was not there ? ” Candice asked, with a 
quiver of disappointment in her voice. 

“ No, mum. Gone home to Valley Farm, the 
landlady sez. Sez she, ‘They’re gone, mum, 
bag and baggage, and are not coming back 
17 


274 “ I WANT YOU ! COME TO ME ! ” 

agin. Now, what shall I do with the errant, 
Miss Candice ? ” 

“ Give it to me, Katie ; ” and taking the 
letter, Candice directed another envelope to 
Valley Farm Station, and putting a stamp on 
one corner handed it back to Katie, who was 
patiently waiting for orders. 

“ Take it to the post-office, Katie. Then that 
is all I can do but wait.” 

The letter contained only a few lines, and 
Candice could remember every word. It ran 
thus : 

“ Mr. Mark Maynard : Since meeting you 
last I have made a discovery, and have a long 
explanation to make to you. I want you! 
Come to me! Mrs. Lee.” 

What would he think ! Doubtless that she 
was very imprudent ; but would he come ? 
Would he give up his arrangements for going 
abroad and come to her ? Two daj^s of dreary 
waiting ! Would the time never, never pass ! 


“l WANT you! come TO me!” 275 

And suppose he did not come ! Would it not 
punish her justly for her doubts of him ? , 

Meantime at the farm all was commotion, and 
in the joy of having her loved ones at home 
with her once more Mrs. Maynard had grown 
comparatively young again. She gazed at 
Mark, and then at Leta, as if afraid it was not 
reality. 

Not one word was said to wound Leta’s feel- 
ings, and not the slightest explanation was 
required of her, so she resumed her old place 
naturally enough among them again. Mrs. 
Maynard took her in her arms and, kissing 
her, said, lovingly: 

“ Leta, child, I have missed you terribly ! 
Thank God ! you are at home once more ! ” 

Leta wept on her shoulder. She knew the 
words had been spoken from a heart chastened 
by sorrow, and she kissed her mother affec- 
tionately. 

Mark was down at the station the next day ; 
he had a commission from his sister Alice to one 
of the dry-goods stores, and more from the force 


276 “l WANT you! come to me!” 

of habit than aught else entered the tiny post- 
office and inquired for the Maynard mail. He 
was not expecting anything, and thinking the 
letter handed him was for his mother or Alice, 
he put it in his coat pocket and never thought 
of it again until he returned home and pulled it 
out of his pocket along with the parcels he had 
just purchased. 

“ I had almost forgotten,” Mark said, care- 
lessly ; “ here is a letter for one of you.” 

His mother took it from him quickly; let- 
ters were a rarity at Valley Farm, and she 
wondered who had taken the trouble to write 
to them. Glancing at the envelope she noted 
the epistle was for Mark, who had not even 
looked at the name written on it. 

“ Why, Mark, it’s for you ! ” his mother said, 
in astonishment. “ I hope it is not a business 
letter that will call you away from home ; but 
that is scarcely likely, for the writing is in a 
delicate female hand.” 

“ For me ?” Mark asked, wonderingly, and his 
first thought was of Candice. Taking the note 


“l WAKT you! come TO me!” 277 

from the envelope he read the few lines hur- 
riedly. “ I want jmu ! Come t6 me ! ” stood 
out before all the rest, and then the name, 
“ Mrs. Lee ! ” What did it mean ? Why had 
she written to him to come to her ? His mother 
gazed at him anxiously. 

“Is it bad news, Mark?” she asked, tremu- 
lously. 

“ No, mother, not bad news ; only I must go 
back to Chicago by the next train ! ” 

“ What is it, Mark ? ” Leta asked, timidly. 

“ I cannot tell you, sister, for I do not know 
myself.” 

Although he put the family off with a careless 
answer, he wondered over the strangeness of 
Mrs. Lee’s request. That she regretted her 
conduct toward him he saw fully, but why 
she should care to send for him directly after 
his return home was a subject of the wildest 
conjecture to him. 

Mark was in a fever of impatience, even when 
journeying toward the woman who had humbled 
herself enough to send for him, for that one so 


278 "i WANT you! come to me!” 

haughty and proud as Mrs. Lee could forget her 
fancied injuries and make apologies was very far 
from his imagination. That one so proud could 
plead to him for forgiveness he could not think ; 
but something had happened; she needed him 
and he would go to her! 


279 


“YOU ARE MY WIFE!” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


‘you are my wife!” 


ANDICE impatiently awaited Mark’s arri- 



Vy val, for her most anxious forebodings could 
not turn her from the thought that he would 
certainly answer her appeal. She pictured his 
astonishment when her letter should be received ; 
he had loved her she was sure ; but supposing 
her conduct had killed that love, then she must 
bid farewell to all hope of a reconciliation. 

The third day came. “ He will surely be here 
this evening,” she thought, with a thrill of expec- 
tation, and calling Katie into the library, as she 
was passing the open door, she said : 

“ Katie, I wish to speak with you.” 

“All right. Miss Candice,” and dropping the 
dust-pan and brush she was carrying outside the 
door, the Irish girl entered the room. 


280 


“you ARE MY wife!” 

“ Shut the door, Katie ! ” and Katie obeyed. 

“ Now, Katie,” Candice said, Avith a lovely 
wild rose blush dyeing her delicate cheeks, “ I 
will tell you what I want of you. I am expect- 
ing Mr. Maynard on the seven o’clock train. I 
want you to keep watch, and, if he come.s, 
answer the bell yourself and conduct him here 
as quietly as possible. Wait, Katie 1 ” as the 
girl started to leave the room. “ It is three- 
quarters of an hour to the time ; go and get 
Baby Mark and bring him here.” 

With a knowing shake of her fiery head, Katie 
left the room and soon returned with Mark in 
her arms. 

“Put him down, Katie,” Candice said, quickly; 
“ he is too heavy for you to carry.” 

“ Shure is it heavy he is ? I don’t avin 
fale the weight of him, and I want to think 
he’s Katie’s little man for yet a little while 
longer.” 

“ Katie,” Candice said, earnestly, “ whatever 
happens, you shall never be separated from 
Baby Mark, unless of your own fre.e will.” 


281 


“you are my wife!” 

With grateful tears in her eyes, Katie left 
the room to take up her watch in the hallway. 

Candice kissed her little boy passionately. 
“ Baby Mark,” she said, laying her cheek 
close to his velvet one, “ you and I are going 
to be so happy if papa comes!” 

But the child had discovered some blocks and 
badly used toys of his,, and slipping from his 
mother’s arms ran after them with gleeful 
laughter, and was soon lost in building won- 
derful houses out of them. 

Katie, in the hallway, was waiting the issue 
of events as anxiously as her young mistress. 

The pert chambermaid had noticed her loiter- 
ing in the hall, and asked her if she was expect- 
ing her Mickey by the front way, and Katie had 
glared at her scornfully in reply ; but in a few 
minutes she heard a hack rattling along the 
street, and with a flourish of the whip the 
driver reined up to the sidewalk. Katie saw 
it all — the hackman opening the door and the 
handsome blonde young man stepping from the 
carriage, with an eager look on his face. 


282 


“you are my wife!” 


A ring at the bell, and Katie, with a look of 
perfect innocence on her florid face, opened the 
door quickly. 

Mark noticed their old servant with astonish- 
ment, but Katie gave him no time for questions in 
regard to herself; she hurried him along the hall 
and opened the library door, which he entered. 

Baby Mark, sitting before the open grate, 
building miniature houses, looked up at his 
entrance and then quietly resumed his play; 
Mark glanced beyond the baby form at a slen- 
der, girlish figure in navy blue cashmere ; her 
back was turned toward him, and she seemed 
intently examining the titles of the tiers of books 
piled high above her head ; she was striving to 
obtain composure. 

“You sent for me, Mrs. Lee!” It was 
Mark’s voice. She turned toward him and 
came across the room with hesitating steps. 

Her eyes, which had always been hidden from 
his sight heretofore, were gazing at him eagerly 
with a world of love and entreaty in their lovely 
wine-brown depths. 


283 


“you are my wife!” 

“ Mark,” she said, timidly, “ do you not know 
me, or have you forgotten your Candice ? ” 

Could this be true ? Was this his young girl- 
wife standing before him, alive and well ? 

“ Do not mock me ! ” he said, hoarsely. “ Who 
are you that so strangely resemble the young 
girl-wife I lost from out my life ? ” 

“ Mark, my husband, do you not know me ? 
I am Candice ! Will you take me back to your 
heart, my darling ? ” 

Now her arms were about his neck and he 
was raining hot, ardent kisses on her lovely 
upturned face. 

“ My darling ! oh ! my darling ! ” he mur- 
mured, passionately. “ Thank God 1 I have 
found you at last 1 You are my wife ! ” 
Neither noticed the door of the library open 
and Uncle Sam look in, and then, with the 
not very elegant remark, “ Thunder ! ” beat a 
hasty retreat back into the old hall, where Katie 
vowed she found him “ dancin’ like an owld fool 
and lackin’ avin the since of one ! ” 

Baby Mark, sitting contentedly on the floor for 


284 


“you are my wife!” 


some time, got tired of seeing so much affection 
wasted and he not the direct cause of it; he 
commenced crying lustily, and then Candice 
went to him and, taking him in her arms, said, 
with the light of perfect happiness on her face : 

“ Mark, see our boy 1 ” 

Mark gazed at them like one dazed and, strong 
man that he was, burst into tears ! 

“ Oh ! Candice 1 ” he said, remorsefully, “ if I 
had only known ! How much you have suffered 1 
Oh ! my darling 1 ” and he gathered the slender 
figure, baby and all, in his strong young arms 
and held them there as if he could never let 
them go. 

“ I had almost forgotten, Mark,” Candice said, 
roguishly ; “ I believe you love Mrs. Lee ! Shall 
I send her to you ? ” 

But he answered, joyfully: “ I am content to 
let well enough alone, and, much as I imagined I 
loved the late Mrs. Lee, I love the present Mrs. 
Maynard a thousand times better ! ” 

Uncle Sam waited impatiently for their re- 
appearance from the library. At last curiosity 


“tou are mt wife!” 


285 


got the better of caution, and he peered into the 
room, but they were so busy they did not notice 
him. Candice was telling her story after her 
wild flight, and Mark was listening sadly; each 
word was like a stab in his throbbing heart. 
Baby Mark saw the old man’s face and shouted, 
joyfully: 

“ Dere’s my pitty papa ! I want to do to 
him ! ” 

Mark and Candice saw Uncle Sam, called him 
in, and explanations were made all around. 
Mark spoke tenderly of Leta, and told how 
he had striven to shield her. 


286 “forgive me, candice, mt child!” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“forgive me, CANDICE, MY^ CHILD!” 

M ark and Candice could scarcely realize 
that all their miserable doubts and sor- 
rows were at an end. Mark gazed at her in 
amazement sometimes, wondering if it were 
really true and not some sweet, illusive dream 
that his young girl-wife was found at last ! 

The long curls of auburn hue were bi'ought 
from their hiding-place where Katie had laid 
them carefully away, and Mark kissed each 
shining tress when he heard that the head 
they once crowned had been so near being 
laid forever out of sight beneath the grass 
and tufted daisies. 

Mark thought sadly of his mother, waiting 
for his return home, and asked his young wife 
if she could ever forgive her. “Let your ten- 


“forgive me, CANDICE, MT CHILD!” 287 

der heart plead for her,” he said, “ for she has 
repented bitterly of her treatment of you, and 
go home with me to Valley Farm.” 

“ Yes, Mark,” she replied, I will go home 
with you ! ” and he thanked her with a kiss. 

Nearly four years had elapsed since the open- 
ing of this story, and it was almost summer-time 
again. The trees were green with spring’s latest 
verdure, and the air odorous with the perfume of 
many sweet-scented flowers, when Mark, Can- 
dice and the baby descended from the train and 
wended their way along the old familiar path. 

Little Mark was tired and his father took him 
in his arms and carried him tenderly. When 
they came to the shore of “ Fairy Lake,” Mark 
said, huskily : 

“Candice, in all my life I hope I may never 
again suffer as I did when I found your tiny 
rubber in the mire at the water’s edge 1 For a 
time I thought I should go mad 1 ” 

“ But all our troubles are over now, ray 
husband! We must try to forget the past, and 
live only for the future ! ” 


288 “forgive me, candice, my child!” 

Mark had not told his mother when he was 
coming home, or of the reconciliation that had 
taken place since he left her. When she saw 
them coming up the walk, she gazed at them in 
wonder. It was Mark, there could be no doubt 
of that, but who was the slender figure in gray, 
walking beside him so proudly ? And could 
it be possible that what she had thought was a 
huge bundle Mark was carrying so carefully was 
a baby ? 

“ Girls,” she said, quickly, with a good deal 
of her old imperiousness, “who is that woman 
with Mark ? ” 

The girls looked from the window eagerly, but 
did not recognize his companion. She must be 
some visitor from the city, they thought regret- 
fully, for they hated to have their quiet disturbed 
so soon. Oh ! if Mark had only come alone ! 

Mrs. Maynard turned toward her son expec- 
tantly when he entered the room, and waited till 
he came up to her, the baby still in his arms and 
Candice by his side. 

She gazed at them so steadily, with such a 


“FORGIVE ME, CANDICE, MY CHILD ! ” 289 

look of incredulous bewilderment, that Mark, 
pitying her, said: 

“ Mother, have you no welcome for my wife 
and baby?” 

Candice, with her tender eyes humid with 
tears, came quickly forward, saying, gently: 

“Do you not know' me. Aunt Kezia — mother?” 

“ Can it be Candice ? ” exclaimed Mrs. May- 
nard. “ Oh ! Father in Heaven ! Thou hast been 
kind to me, a sinner ! ” The haughty woman, 
flinging her arms about the slight figure of Can- 
dice, said, humbly : “ Forgive me, my child ! ” 

The girls came forward and the reconciliation 
was complete. Baby Mark was almost smothered 
with kisses, and altogether it was a joyous home- 
coming. 

Little Mark carried all hearts by storm, and 
evoked peals of merriment w'henever he ad- 
dressed Mrs. Maynard as “ Dammuzzer.” In 
his childish bewilderment he looked from face 
to face, wondering what they were all laughing 
about. 

The past was ignored as much as possible, 

18 


290 “PORGITE ME, CANDICE, MT CHILD!’* 

and a couple of months went by quite pleas- 
antly. On Leta’s account Mark and Candice 
then made preparations to go abroad. 

As much as Mrs. Maynard and Alice dreaded 
to see them go, they knew that it was best and 
uttered not one single protest. 

Katie was to go with them as nurse to little 
Mark. 

One evening they were all surprised and 
delighted when Uncle Sam walked in unex- 
pectedly. When their plans were unfolded to 
him, he said, with a good deal of curiosity, 
turning to his sister : 

“ And you’re going to stay on the farm 
alone, Kezia ? Mighty lonesome you’ll get 1 ” 

“ Alice will be with me,” Mrs. Maynard 
answered, resignedly ; “ I will have to be 
contented. There is no other way.” 

“ But great Scott ! Kezia, what do you sup- 
pose I am going to do while the children are 
gone ? I reckon I’ll be obliged to marry 
Mrs. Chamberlain, unless you’ll consent to come 
and live with me 1 ’ 


291 


“you are mt wife!” 

“ Brother, do you mean it ? ” Mrs. Maynard 
said, anxiously, “for if you really want me, I 
will come.” 

“And Alice shall go with us,” Mark said, 
quickly; “surely nothing could be better for 
us all than this arrangement ! ” 

The old farm-house was to be closed during 
their absence, and when they returned it was to 
be remodeled throughout, and Mark and Candice 
would make their future home there. 


292 


FINALE. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

FINALE. 

K atie was delighted at the prospect of 
going abroad, and on their return to 
town kept them all in an uproar of merri- 
ment by her quaint remarks. The kind-hearted 
girl who had always taken so much care of Can- 
dice was appreciated at last by every member of 
the Maynard family. 

“ I hate to lave brother Pat,” Katie said, a 
trifle regretfully, “ but I’ll stick to Miss Candice 
shure ! ” and Candice astonished her very much 
by leaving a tender kiss on her florid cheek. 

Katie would not wash her cheek for days 
afterwards for fear of destroying the kiss, and 
she was very grateful when Candice gave her 
a check for a thousand dollars to give to her 
brother Pat as a testimonial of her remembrance 
of their kindness to her in her dire need. 


FINALE. 


293 


The trip to Europe was a success. In France 
they found proof that Leta was indeed the heir of 
an almost princely inheritance left by the man 
who, not daring to claim it himself, had paved 
the way for his young wife’s future happiness, 
surrounded by wealth and all that it could bring. 

Two years they spent abroad, and Leta, w'ho 
had been much admired as the fair young widow 
of Count Lucerne, concluded to remain in France 
as the wife of a nobleman of ancient lineage ; he 
had been attracted by the youthful American’s 
blonde loveliness, and even her sad history did 
not deter him from making her his wife. 

Mark and Candice, Alice, Katie and little 
mark bade farewell to foreign lands, and with 
light hearts sailed across the ocean toward home 
and the dear ones left behind. They parted from 
Leta with many tears and kisses, but her husband 
promised to bring her to America soon, and with 
that promise they were forced to be content. 

A year later Katie was married to a “ foine ” 
young man, fresh from the Emerald Isle, and 
was set up in housekeeping in the latest style 
by Candice and Mark. She laughingly declared 


294 


FINALE. 


that she was a ‘‘ foine ” lady now, thanks t6 her 
“ wee man,” for Candice had told her her good 
fortune was all a present from little Mark. 

Mrs. Maynard and Uncle Sam seem very well 
satisfied in spending their time alternately in the 
citA’’ and at Valley Farm. The old farm-house 
has been remodeled, an(k is now a very fashion- 
able-looking mansion of the period. 

It is rumored among the circle of busybodies 
about the Station that Alice is soon to be married. 
Of course, Mrs. Levy knows all about it, and it 
is certain that a young man from the Queen City 
manages to pay Valley Farm a visit whenever 
Alice honors it with her presence. 

Mrs. Maynard speaks lovingly of her daughter 
Candice ; still the family will never forget how 
near shipwreck her life had been, but the life- 
boat had managed to live through the storm, and 
happiness reigned in their hearts at last ! 


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Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations.. 2 00 
The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Eiocution. 600 pages.. 2 00 
Comstock’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the English 
Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force and 
Gesture, and Sixty-Eight colored figures, representing the various 
postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. On a largo 
Roller. Every School should have a copy of it 5 00 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson A Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News 
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast-selling 
books, which will be supplied at very Low Rates, 


ilMILE ZOLA’S NEW EEALISTIC BOOKS. 

Nana! Sequel to L’Assomraoir. By Emile Zola. Nana! Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1 .00 in morocco cloth, black and gold. Nana ! 

L’AoSommoir ; or, Nana's Mother. By Emile Zoln, The Greatest Novel 
ever printed. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

The Joys of Life. By Emile Zola^ author of Nana,” Pot-Bouille,” etc. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

The Ladies’ Paradise; or, The Bonheur des Dames. By Emile Zolay author 
of Nana.” Paper cover, 75 cents; or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Her Two Husbands; and Other Novelettes. By Emile Zoln, Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Pot-Bouille. j^//n7e author of Nana.” ^^Pot-Bouille.” Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Nana’s Daughter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola's Great 
Realistic Novel of Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloih. 

The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, Pn«50 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

The Girl in Scarlet; or, the Loves of Silv^re and Miette. By Emile Zota, 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

Albine; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. {La Faute De U Ahhe Mouret.) By 
Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

La Belle Lisa; or. The Paris Market Girls. By Emile Zola. Price 7a 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Helene, a Love Episode; or, Une Page B* Amour, By Emile Zola, 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

A Mad Love; or The Abb^ and His Court. By Emile Zola, Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Magdalen Ferat. By Emile Zolay author of ^^Nana,” and L’Assom- 
inoir.” Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of ** Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,” 
Helene,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

The Mysteries of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana.” Price 
50 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 

In the Whirlpool. {La Curee.) By Emile Zolay author of **Nana.” 
Paper cover, 75 cents; or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Th^rese Raquin. By Emile Zola, author of **N«na.” Price 75 cents in 
paper cover, or $1.00 in morocco cloth, black android. 

ADOLPHE BELOT’S INGENIOUS NOVELS. 

The Black Venus. By Adolphe Belot. Paper cover, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

La Grande Florine. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

The Stranglers of Paris. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 


AU Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa « 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price* 


T. B. PETEBSON & BROTHERS’ PITBLICATIONS. 13 


PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

I^e foUowtng hooka are printed on tinted paper j and are issued in uniform 
stylsy in square \2mo. form. Price 50 Cents in Paper , or $1.00 in Cloth, 
Helen’s Babies. Budge and Toddie. By John Habberton. With an 
Illustrated Cover, and Portraits of Budge” and “ Toddie,” and others. 
Mrs. Mayburn’s Twins. With the Mother’s Trials in the Morning, After- 
noon and Evening. By John Habberton, author of “ Helen’s Babies.” 
Bertha’s Baby. Equal to “Helen’s Babies.” Bertha’s Baby. With an 
Illustrated Cover, and a Portrait of “ Bertha’s Baby ” on it. 

The Annals of a Baby. Baby’s First Gifts. Naming the Baby. The 
Baby’s Party. Aunt Hannah, etc. By Mrs. Sarah Bridges Stebbins. 
Bessie’s Six Lovers. With Her Reflections, Resolves, Coronation, and 
Declaration of Love. A Charming Love Story. By Henry Peterson. 
Two Kisses. A Bright and Snappy Love Story. By Hawley Smart. 

Her Second Love. A Thrilling Life-like and Captivating Love Story. 

A Parisian Romance. Octave FeuiUet*s New Book, just dramatized, 
Fanchon, the Cricket ; or, La Petite Fadette. By George Sand. 

Two Ways to Matrimony ; or. Is it Love? or, False Pride. 

The Matchmaker. By Beatrice Reynolds. A Charming Love Story. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
The Amours of Philippe ; or, Philippe’s Love AflTairs, by Octave Feuillet. 
Sybil Brotherton. A Novel. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. By author of “Major Jones’s Courlship.” 
Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican. Illustrated. 

A Woman’s Mistake; or, Jacques de Tr^vannes. A Charming Love Story. 
The Days of Madame Pompadour. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. 
The Little Countess. By Octave Feuillet, author of “ Count De Camors.” 
The Red Hill Tragedy. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

The American L’Assommoir. A parody on Zola's “ L’Assornmoir.” 

Hyde Park Sketches. A very humorous and entertaining work. 

Miss Margery’s Rose.s. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers. 
Madeleine. A Charming Love Story. Jules Sandeau’s Prize Novel. 
Carmen. By Prosper Merimee. Book the Opera was dramatized from. 
That Girl of Mine. By the author of “ That Lover of Mine.” 

That Lover of Mine. By the author of “ That Girl of Mine.” 

PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of “ Count of Monte-Cristo.” 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to “ The Wife of Monte-Cristo.” 
Married Above Her. A Society Romance. By a Lady of New York. 

The Man from Texas. A Powerful Western Romance, full of adventure. 
Erring, Yet Noble. A Book of Women and for Women. By I. G. Reed. 
The Fair Enchantress; or. How She Won Men’s Hearts. By Miss Keller. 
Above are in paper cover y price 75 cents each, or $1.25 each in cloth, 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Paper, 76 cts. ; cloth, $1.50. 
Those Pretty St. George Girls. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, gilt, $1.00. 
The Prairie Flower, and Leni-Leoti. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, gilt, $1.25. 
Vidocq I The French Detective. Illustrated. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 


All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.^ 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Betail Price. 


14 T. B. PETEESON & BEOTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Major Jones's Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00* 
Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Simon Suggs’ Adventures. 10 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Louisiana Swamp Doctor. 6 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Initials. ^A. Z.’ By Baroness Tautphoeus. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25. 
Indiana ! A Love* Story. By George Sand. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Monsieur, Madame, and the Baby. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
L’Evang^liste. By Alphonse Daudet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Duchesse Undine. By H. Penn Diltz. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Hidden Record. By E. W. Blaisdell. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Consuelo. By George Sand. Paper cover. Price 75 cents; cloth, $l.tl0. 
Countess of Rudolstadt. Sequel to Consuelo, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Changed Brides. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper, 75 cts. 
The Bride’s Fate. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
Self-Raised; or. From the Depths. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cts. 
Ishmael; or, in the Depths. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
The Fatal Marriage. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
The Bridal Eve; or, Rose Elmer. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
A Russian Princess. By Emmanuel Gonzales. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
A Woman’s Perils ; or. Driven from Home. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Fascinating Woman. By Edmond Adam. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
La Faustin. By Edmond de Goncourt. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Monsieur Le Ministre. By Jules Claretie. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Winning the Battle; or, One Girl in 10,000. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Child of Israel. By Edouard Cadol. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Exiles. The Russian ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
My Hero. A Love Story. By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Paul Hart; or. The Love of His Life. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Mildred’s Cadet; or. Hearts and Bell-Buttons. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Bellah. A Love Story. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Sabine’s Falsehood. A Love Story. Paper, price 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Linda ; or. The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole. Pa per, 75 cts., cloth, $1 .25, 
The Woman in Black. Illustrated Cover, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Madame Bovary. By Gustave Flaubert. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Count de Camors. By Octave Feuillet, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
How She Won Him ! A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Ang^le’s Fortune. By Andr6 Theuriet. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
St. Maur ; or. An Earl’s Wooing. Paper cover, price 75 cents, cloth, $1 .25. 
The Prince of Breflfny. By Thomas P. May, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.50. 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P, May, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

THE “COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES.*’ 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. Illustrated. Paper cover, $1.00, cloth, $1.50, 
Edmond Dantes. Sequel to Monte-Cristo.” Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25. 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, $1.00, morocco cloth, $1.50. 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 


All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa-t 
will ba sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt ol Retail Price* 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 15 


MRS. F. H. BURNETT’S NOVELLETTES. 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By author of “ That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Theo. A Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen,” ^‘Miss Crespigny,” etc. 
Lindsay’s Luck. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of Kathleen,” Theo,” etc. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Burnett, author of “ That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Miss Crespigny. A Charming Love Story. By author of ^‘Kathleen.” 
Jarl’s Daughter and Other Novelettes. By Mrs. Burnett. 

Above are in “paper cover f price 50 cents eachy or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 

HENRY GR^VILLE’S CHARMING NOVELS. 

Posia. A Russian Story, By Henry Gr^oille^ author of Markof.” 
Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Griville, 

Sylvie’s Betrothed. A Charming Novel, By Henry Griville, 

PhilomSne’s Marriages. A Love Story. By Henry Grivil/e, 

Guy’s Marriage; also Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Grivill^t 
Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each. 
The Trials of Raissa. By Henry Greville, author of Dosia.” 

The Princess Ogh^rof. A Love Story, By Henry GrtviUe, 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 
Marn’zelle Eugenie. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Novel. By Henry Greville. 

Tania’s Peril. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Lucie Rodey. A Charming Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville, 
Xenie’s Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Greville. 
Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze. By Henry Greville. 

A Friend; or, “L’Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 
Markof, the Russian Violinist. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.50. 

BOOKS BY AUTHOR OF ‘A HEART TWICE WON.’ 

A Heart Twice Won; or. Second Love. A Love Story. By Mts, Eliza-, 
beth Van Loon, Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

Under the Willows; or. The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 
The Shadow of Hampton Mead. A Charming Story, By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 

The Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel, By Mrs, Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. ^ 
The Last Athenian. By V'ictor Rydberg, Translated from the Swedisl^ 
Large 12u]o. volume, near 600 pages, cloth, black and gold, price $1.75.^ 
The Roman Traitor; or, The Days of Cicero, Cato, and Cataline. A Tale 
of the Republic. By Henry William Herbert. Morocco cloth, price $1 .75. 
Franca telli’s Modern Cook Book. The New Edition. With the most 
approved methods of French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. 
With 62 Illustrations. 600 pages, morocco cloth, price $5.00. 

All Books published by T. B. Peterson A Brothers » Philadelphia, Pa., 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ FTTBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The folioicing hooks are each issued iu one large octavo volume^ hound in 
elothf at $1.50 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrationfj, $1 50 

Myi^teries of Paris; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 1 50 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 1 50 
The folloxoing hooks are each issued in one large octavo volume, hound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.50 each, 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard, 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 
The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author Quaker City,” 2 00 

The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

The following are each issued in one large octavo volume., hound in cloth, price $1.60 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at lb cents each. 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $1 50 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 1 50 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 1 50 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Kate O’Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 1 50 

HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED BOOKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrations, hy Felix 0, C, Darley, and hound in Cloth, 
Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. In one vol., 29 Illustrations, .$1 75 

Mj)jor Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 5^ 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 50 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 50 

Humors of Faleonbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 50 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 50 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 50 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 50 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 50 

Lorrimer Littlegood. Illustrated. By author of Frank Fairlegh,” 1 50 
Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 50 cents, cloth, 1 00 


i^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prio6« 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Mark Maynard’s Wife. 

BY FRANKIE FALING KING. 


Mark Maynard'* 5 Wife*'* Frankie Faling Kinfs new love romance ^ will easily take 
the lead in its special field. It possesses in an eminent degree all those qualities demanded 
by the novel readers of the present day^ notably rare vividness^ exceptional brilliancy^ 
thorough originality and absorbing interest. Sufficiently sensational to meet the re- 
quirements of those who relish the melodramatic in fiction^ emotional^ pathetic and at 
times humorous^ it has something for all tasteSy combined with real literary merit and 
pronounced artistic effect. It is an American novel racy of the soil a fact that will 
be duly appreciated. The scene is laid mainly at Valley Farm^ and in Chicago. 
There is a continuous flood of startling and surprising incidentSy evincing a phenom- 
enal wealth of ingenuity and imagination on the part of the author. The action 
is altogether unbrokeny descriptions and digressions being skilfully avoidedy while every 
scene is made the most of without the least exaggeration or straining. A more com- 
pact y consistent and comprehensive plot it would be difficult to frame. It moves along 
with delightful simplicity y and the absence of bewildering complications is worthy cf 
cordial commendation. Still the drift of the plot is carefully concealedy and it is im- 
possible to fathom the authors intentions until the proper time arrives and the denoue- 
ment brings about the necessary disclosures. I he heroine is a young girl who is 
induced to contract a secret marriage with Mark Maynardy a relative. She is poor 
and livmg at his mother's hotisey is oppressed and treated as a servant. Mark fears 
to acknowledge his marriagey and his wifey at length imagining that he is in love with 
Alda Lome, an heiress afflicted with the consumption y flees from him. This is the 
groundwork of the novel and affords opportunities that are taken full advantage of 
The sufferings of the girhwife and the remorse of her husband are powerfully de- 
picted and a series of thr’illing episodes evolved that hold the reader spellbottnd, Ihe 
incidental history of Leta Maynards love affair with Leon Tatro is well managed 
and effective. The rescue of Candice from dr owning y the burglary y the death of Alda 
and the recovery of Leta are exceedingly forcible and dramatic scenes, while Mrs. 
Chamberlain* s attempt to court Uncle Sam is excessively droll. One of the great 
charms of the book is the life-like character sketchingy Uncle Sam and Katicy the Irish 
girly being particularly well drawHy while Baby Mark is a sweet little fellow. **Mark 
Maynards Wife** will delight everybody and should be read by ally young and old, 
for it is one of the best and most attractive novels of the day. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


**Mark Maynard* s Wife ** will be found for sale by all Bookse^efs at all 
News Stands, at all Railroad Stations, and by the Newsboys on all Railroad Trains 
everywhere, or copies of it will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, post-paid^ 
on remitting the price of the edition wished to publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


. Burnett’S Novelettes. 

COMPLETE EDITIONS, JUST PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PHILADELPHIA, 

AND FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS AND NEWS AGENTS. 

Price 50 cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth, black and gold. 



Mrs. Frances Hodgson Barnett is one of the most charming among American writers. There is a 
crisp and breezy freshness about her delightful novelettes that is rarely found in contemporaneous fic- 
tion, and a close adherence to nature, as well, that renders them doubly delicious. Of all Mrs. Bur- 
nett's romances and shorter stories those which first attracted public attention to her wonderful gifts 
are still her b-st. She has done more mature work, but never anything half so pleasing and enjoyable. 
These masterpieces of Mrs. Burnett’s genius are all love stories of the brightest, happiest and most enter- 
taining description ; lively, cheerful love stories in which the shadow cast is infinitesimally small com- 
pared with the stretch of sunlight; and the interest is always maintained at full head without apparent 
effort and without resorting to the conventional and hackneyed devices of most novelists, devices that 
the experienced reader sees through at once. No more sprightly novel than “ Theo ” could be desired, 
and a sweeter or more beautiful romance than “ Kathleen” does not exist in print, while ” Pretty 
Polly Pemberton” possesses besides its sprightliness a special interest peculiar to itself, and Miss 
Crespigny” would do honor to the pen of any novelist, no matter how celebrated. “Lindsay's 
Luck,” “A Quiet Life,” “The Tide on the Moaning Bar” and “Jarl’s Daughter” are all worthy 
members of the same collection of Mrs. Burnett’s earlier, most original, best and freshest romances. 
Everybody should read these exceptionally bright, clever and fascinating novelettes, for they occupy a 
niche by themselves in the world’s literature and are decidedly the most agreeable, charming and 
interesting books that can be found anywhere. 


KATHIjSEN. a Charming Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett^ 
author of “ Theo,’" “ Miss Crespigny,” “ Quiet Life,” “ Pretty Polly Pemberton.” 

THEO.” A Sprightly Love Story. By Airs. Frances Hodgson Burnett^ author 
of “ Kathleen,” “A Quiet Life,” “ Miss Crespigny,” “ Pretty Polly Pemberton.” 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTOTT. A Charming I^ove Story. By Mrs. 

Frances Hodgson Burfiett^ author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” “A Quiet Life,” etc. 

MISS CRESPIGNY. A Powerful Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson 
Burnett^ author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” ‘‘ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” etc. 

LINDSAY’S LUCK. A Fascinating Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson 
Burnetty author of “ Theo,” Kathleen,” “A Quiet Life,” “ Miss Crespigny.” 

A QUIET LIFE; and THE TIDE ON THE MOANING BAR. 

Tender and Pathetic Stories. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

JARL’S DAUGHTER; and OTHER NOVELETTES. By Mrs. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” etc. 

Above are 50 cents each In paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth, black and gold. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, at all News Stands, at all 
Railroad Stations, and by the Newsboys on all Railroad Trains everywhere, or copies 
of any one or all of them, will be sent to any one, to any place, at 07tce, per mail, 
post-paid, on remitting price of the ones wished to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 






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